Not  Included 
in  a  Sheepskin 

Stanford  Stories 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


in  a  Sheepskin 

Stanford  Stories 


Mot  "3ttclu6e6  in  a 


Stanforfc  Stories 


Published  by 


Stanford  University 
California 


COPYRIGHT  1907 
By  LAURA  WELLS 


Printed  by 

Co. 
San  Francisco 


This  book  does  not  aspire  to  portray 
Stanford  life  in  its  entirety,  nor  does  it 
seek  to  justify  many  phases  of  under 
graduate  activity.  It  defends  itself  only 
in  the  light  of  a  personal  interpretation 
of  several  years'  connection  with  things 

NOT  INCLUDED  IN   A   SHEEPSKIN. 


Contents 

PAGE 

The  Three  R's l 

A  Girl  and  a  Nudibranc 25 

Prepdom  on  Parade 47 

The  Arrogance  of  the  Second  Year      .      .      .  81 
Miss  Johnston  and  the  Seminar  System   .      .109 

Dedicate  to  Plato 131 

The  Rulers  of  the  Realm 163 

Earthquake  Emergency 201 

Senior  Finalities 225 


THE   THREE   R'S 

"My  Freshman  maid,  you  want  your  hours? 
Then  don't  forget  the  triple  R's." 

"Honored  sir,"  she  answered,  blushing, 
"Mean  you  Roble,  Row,  and  Rushing?" 

It  was  near  the  end  of  that  period  of  frantic  enter 
tainment,  known  as  "rushing  season,"  when  Fresh 
men  are  recruited  for  the  ranks  of  the  sororities. 
It  is  a  time  that  wears  thin  the  nerves  and  tempers 
of  those  involved,  and  draws  down  upon  their  heads 
the  professorial  wrath  for  slipshod  work. 

Three  girls  turned  from  the  driveway  of  the 
Lambda  Eta  house,  walking  briskly  in  the  cool  air 
of  the  autumn  evening,  which  struck  them  in  pleas 
ant  contrast  to  the  hot-house  closeness  of  the  formal 
dinner  they  had  just  attended.  The  door  which 
closed  behind  them  shut  off  from  their  path  a  glow 
of  yellow  light,  and  with  it  cut  short  the  laughing 
farewells  of  the  Lambda  Etas.  It  was  a  cordial 
chorus,  and  should  have  warmed  the  hearts  of  the 
Freshmen  who  were  in  the  process  of  becoming  ac 
climated  to  the  rare  atmosphere  of  undergraduatism, 
and  who  still  thought  of  home  with  regret. 

Such  an  effect  did  not  appear,  however,  in  the 
wearied  tone  of  resignation  with  which  Elizabeth 


r 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

addressed  Margaret  Sears.  "Peter,  did  you  ever  hear 
of  sororities,  did  you  ever  hear  of  rushing  before  you 
came  to  college'?  " 

The  other  stopped  short  and  heaved  an  exagger 
ated  sigh,  but  did  not  volunteer  the  obvious  answer. 
They  walked  on  indifferent  to  the  life  of  the  Row. 
At  an  upper  window  of  one  of  the  houses  a  student, 
with  hand  above  eyes,  bent  over  his  books,  and 
below,  presenting  a  picture  to  the  passer-by,  the 
more  self-indulgent  stooped  intent  over  billiards,  or 
stamped  back  and  forth,  cue  in  hand.  From  another 
house  came  the  noise  of  a  rushing  party,  and  there 
was  a  cheerful  tinkling  of  mandolins  and  the  sound 
of  singing  in  the  distance. 

Elizabeth  called  a  halt  on  the  rapid  progress  of 
the  three  as  they  neared  the  post-office. 

"We  needn't  hurry  so,  now  that  we  are  really  out 
of  their  clutches.  Dick  and  the  rest  aren't  going  to 
meet  us  until  half-past  eight,  you  know." 

Marion,  whose  tall,  athletic  figure  loomed  up  the 
largest  of  the  trio,  asserted  her  relief  joyfully. 
"Isn't  it  glorious  to  get  away  for  a  whole  evening1? 
I  know  I'm  going  to  enjoy  it,  even  though  I  don't 
know  one  of  the  men,  thanks  to  the  Pan-Hellenic 
regulations.  How  did  you  ever  break  the  date  with 
the  Beta  Sigmas,  Elizabeth?" 

[2] 


THE   THREE  R'S 

"Oh,  the  Beta  Sigmas  were  fine  about  it.  I  really 
believe  they  were  glad  to  let  us  have  a  good  time, 
so  long  as  they  knew  we  weren't  going  to  any  other 
house.  Dick  was  a  peach  to  ask  us."  Elizabeth 
shook  the  shoulders  of  the  small  girl  beside  her. 
"Say  something,  Peter.  Aren't  you  glad  to  escape 
from  the  electric  glare  for  a  while1?  And  just  think, 
you're  going  to  see  Shorty  Oliver  at  last." 

Margaret's  voice  was  not  enthusiastic.  "I  sup 
pose  I  might  as  well  meet  him  and  have  it  over  with, 
since  you're  so  determined  I  shall,  but  I  wish  I  could 
go  home.  I'm  tired  of  dinners  and  dances  and 
luncheons,  and  I  hate  to  be  under  such  obligation  to 
people.  Everybody's  too  horribly  good  to  us — we 
couldn't  ever  begin  to  return  it." 

"Might  give  them  a  tea  in  our  one  room  at  Roble, 
minus  the  curtains  and  pictures  we  haven't  had  time 
to  put  up,"  suggested  Marion,  sarcastically.  She 
took  Margaret's  elbow,  almost  lifting  her  off  her 
feet  through  sheer  discrepancy  in  height. 

"Ordinary  ideas  of  social  obligation  don't  hold 
here,"  Elizabeth  explained,  airily.  "Dick  told  me 
so.  It's  a  purely  business  proposition.  Most  of 
their  friendliness  is  mere  policy." 

Marion  objected.  "I'm  sure  that  some  of  the 
girls  are  genuinely  fond  of  us,  now " 

[3] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

"I  know  it,"  said  Peter.  "There's  one  girl  whom 
I'm  going  to  love  as  long  as  I  live,  and  we've  planned 
all  sorts  of  things  to  do  together." 

"Can't  you  see,"  Elizabeth  took  pride  in  her 
superior  knowledge,  "the  Lambda  Etas  have  sized 
us  all  up.  Peter  gets  the  motherly  Seniors  in  the 
house,  who  pet  her  and  appreciate  her  originality. 
Marion  has  a  dose  of  the  serious-minded  and  the 
erudite,  much  they  know  of  her,  while  I  am  showered 
with  flippancy  and  gossip." 

Peter  ignored  the  argument,  and  said  with  de 
cision:  "Well,  anyway,  it's  a  beastly  shame  to  go 
so  much  to  the  Lambda  Eta  house  when  we've  all 
decided " 

"Hush,"  Marion  looked  around  suspiciously,  as 
if  she  half  expected  to  see  tale-bearers  in  the  shadow 
of  the  arcades,  for  they  had  reached  the  deserted, 
echoing  pavement  of  the  Quad.  Presently  they 
turned  the  corner  of  the  History  building,  and  noted 
three  figures  that  loomed  up  in  the  light  from  the 
library  windows. 

"There's  Dick,"  exclaimed  Elizabeth.  "Dick, 
that's  been  mine  for  a  whole  year." 

"Wonderful!  fickle  one,"  teased  Marion,  "the 
other  two  I  surmise  are  prospective.  Now,  I  lay 
claim  right  here  on  oath — Peter,  how's  this,  beneath 

[4] 


<THE   THREE  R'S 

the  wings  of  the  flitting  bats  and  the  shadows  of 
these  arches — to  Mr.  Warrington.  He  at  least  cor 
responds  to  my  ideal  in  height — besides  I  like  him." 

"Any  one  but  Dick,"  Elizabeth  murmured,  hap 
pily. 

Introductions  at  college  are  formalities  that  open 
up  at  once  possibilities  of  a  delightful  camaraderie — 
one  of  the  charms  of  university  life.  Dick  repre 
sented  football  and  society.  Shorty  Oliver  was 
good-naturedness  personified,  and  Max  Warrington, 
whom  many  liked  and  some  feared,  was  a  newspaper 
man  through  and  through.  He  talked  to  Marion 
during  the  moonlight  walk  down  the  palm-lined 
avenue,  and  by  the  time  they  had  reached  the  griffin- 
guarded  entrance  gates  in  sight  of  the  lights  of  Palo 
Alto,  had  gained  her  distinct  approval.  They  were 
headed  for  Wilson's,  the  rendezvous  of  all  moon 
light  strollers,  holding  forth  as  it  does  the  allurement 
of  ice-cream  and  confectionery. 

They  were  no  sooner  laughingly  seated  around 
one  of  the  small  tables  than  they  discovered  a  group 
of  Beta  Sigmas  ensconced  in  an  alcove  opposite 
them.  They  bowed  to  the  Freshmen  with  exagger 
ated  friendliness  and  became  almost  hilarious  over 
some  joke  of  their  own. 

[5] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Peter  took  the  opportunity  to  whisper  to  Eliza 
beth,  "No  wonder  they  didn't  care  about  the  date — 
queening,  too !  " 

Dick  was  making  high  signs  to  the  group  across 
the  way,  and  Elizabeth  had  the  uncomfortable  feel 
ing  of  being  in  the  dark  about  something. 

"Seems  sort  of  lively  over  there,"  Shorty  Oliver 
bridged  an  awkward  silence  and  indicated  the  Beta 
Sigmas  with  a  lift  of  his  chin.  Then  the  voice  of 
the  waitress  rasped  out,  "One  En  Spesh,  one  Thet 
Phi,  one  chock " 

The  talk  drifted  to  the  summer  vacation  which 
was  still  near  enough  in  their  recollections  to  possess 
the  attraction  of  vanished  pleasures.  Dick  narrated 
the  experiences  of  himself  and  three  others  who  had 
worked  for  the  months  of  June  and  July  in  a  North 
ern  California  lumber  camp,  not  that  he  was  hard  up 
for  cash,  but  just  to  show  the  old  man  that  he  could 
do  something. 

Shorty's  summer  had  centered  around  a  gold  mine. 

"My  Lord!  the  blisters  on  my  hands  from  hack 
ing  brush,"  he  said. 

This  was  a  novelty  for  the  Freshmen.  There  was 
a  halo  of  romanticism  about  college  men  in  dis 
guise — one  might  find  them  turning  up  in  such  queer 
places.  Then,  too,  they  were  interested  to  discover 

[6] 


THREE  R>S 

that  Warrington  was  partially  supporting  himself 
through  college  as  correspondent  for  one  of  the  city 
papers.  There  was  something  so  democratic  about 
this  abolition  of  caste  and  the  placing  of  genius  and 
personality  in  the  front  rank. 

Peter's  wild  heart  yearned  to  "notch  a  tree"  as 
described  by  Dick,  and,  her  interest  aroused,  she  so 
forgot  her  shyness  that  Marion  and  Elizabeth  looked 
at  her  incredulously — Peter,  the  avowed  scorner  of 
men! 

Half  up  the  avenue,  on  their  way  back  to  the 
Campus,  the  smaller  girl,  watching  the  effect  of  the 
eucalyptus  trees  against  the  sky,  was  startled  by 
Shorty  Oliver's  remark. 

"Honestly,  Miss  Sears,  but  you're  a  wise  one!  " 

"How  do  you  make  that  out*?  " 

"Just  so !  "  he  said  with  a  gesture.  "For  twenty 
minutes  I  have  been  talking  of,  around,  about,  sorori 
ties.  I  have  rung  the  door  bell,  turned  the  knob,  and 
tried  the  windows.  I  have  almost  worked  myself 
into  a  fever — it's  a  pretty  heavy  strain  on  a  Sopho 
more  mind." 

"And  you  have  found?  "  Peter's  tone  was  almost 
sarcastic. 

"A  good  deal,"  said  Oliver  with  his  inevitable 
chuckle.  "Yes,  the  sorority  girls  are  charming,  the 

[7] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Beta  Sigmas  have  a  pretty  house  and  so  have  the 
Lambda  Etas  and  the  Theta  Gamma  Alphas.  Alice 
Hibbard  is  a  most  interesting  girl,  likewise  Edith 
Homer.  Honestly,  Miss  Sears,  you're  as  tight  as  a 
cracker  box." 

"I  suppose  it  was  very  impertinent  of  me  not  to 
out  with  the  whole  thing." 

"It  was — for  a  Freshman  you  are  much  too  wise, 
Miss  Sears." 

"And  what  would  your  Sophomoreship  like  to 
know?  "  queried  Peter. 

Shorty  came  to  the  point:  "I  want  to  know  if  you 
are  giving  the  keenest  crowd  in  college  a  fair  show." 

"And  which  crowd  can  that  be?  "  Peter  asked 
seriously. 

"Beta  Sigma,  of  course." 

Peter  was  relieved.  She  thought  of  the  agreement 
and  was  glad  their  choice  had  been  approved. 

"We're  all  rooting  for  them,"  Shorty  continued. 
"Warrington  and  Dick,  too." 

Peter  was  still  more  glad.  "That  will  be  a  very 
weighty  consideration  in  their  favor,"  she  laughed. 

Just  then  Oliver  pulled  her  aside  in  time  to  escape 
a  bicycle  whose  whistle  they  had  not  heard,  and 
barely  dodged  a  second  one  himself.  "They  think 

[8] 


?HE   cfHREE  R'S 

nothing  of  clipping  off  an  ear,"  he  remarked  flip 
pantly. 

Not  having  heard  the  bicycle,  they  had  likewise 
been  unaware  of  footsteps  coming  behind  them. 
Suddenly  they  were  stopped  with  the  words,  "My, 
but  you  people  walk  slowly  for  us  to  have  caught 
up !  "  It  was  one  of  the  Beta  Sigmas  trying  her  best 
to  cover  her  breathlessness  by  animation. 

"Better  call  yourselves  sprinters,"  observed  the 
irrepressible  Oliver. 

The  girl  turned  her  back  on  him.  "Elizabeth, 
may  I  introduce  Mr.  Trent."  The  rest  of  the  soror 
ity  girls  joined  them  and  the  crowd  loitered  along 
the  homeward  way,  exuberant  with  fun  and  good 
spirits,  for  every  one  seemed  bent  on  giving  the 
Freshmen  the  time  of  their  lives. 

Elizabeth  alone  did  not  join  in  with  them,  for 
she  would  not  be  separated  from  Dick,  and  the  two 
walked  on  ahead  into  the  darkness.  "It's  the  best 
evening  I've  had  since  college  began,"  the  girl  was 
saying.  "It's  such  a  relief  to  see  a  man  again. 
Bunches  of  fifteen  or  twenty  girls  thrown  at  your 
head  day  in  and  day  out  become  mighty  wearisome." 

Dick  seemed  seriously  inclined.  "I'm  glad  you're 
enjoying  it  for  two  reasons,"  he  said.  "First,  be 
cause  I  haven't  caught  a  glimpse  of  you  since  you 

[9] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

came  and,  secondly,  because  I  want  you  to  like  the 
Beta  Sigmas." 

"Why,  Dick,  I  thought  you  didn't  care." 

The  man  hesitated.  "Well,  I  didn't — but  when 
you  come  down  to  a  choice  there's  only  one  crowd 
— they're  friends  of  mine — and  I  promised  I'd  say 
something  to  you." 

Elizabeth  considered.  "I  thought  you  men 
weren't  supposed  to  have  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"We  aren't,"  said  Dick.  "It's  rather  a  breach  of 
Pan-Hellenic  to  say  anything." 

"Oh!  "  said  Elizabeth,  "and  their  walking  home 
with  us — that's  rushing  with  men,  too,  I  suppose4?  " 

"Well,"  said  Dick,  "no  one  will  know  about  it; 
all's  fair  in  love  and  war,  and  there  are  only  two 
days  left " 

"So  it  was  all  arranged." 

"Of  course,"  Dick  laughed,  "you're  strangely  una 
ware  of  the  subtleties  of  rushing,  Elizabeth.  It  was 
a  clever  stunt." 

Elizabeth  was  silent. 

When  they  came  to  the  Quad  she  insisted  that  she 
must  go  straight  to  Roble,  and  Marion  and  Peter, 
yielding  to  her  determination,  reluctantly  refused 
the  urgent  invitation  of  the  Beta  Sigmas  to  "come  up 
for  something  in  the  chafing  dish." 

[10] 


THE  THREE  R'S 

In  her  room,  the  door  locked  against  intrusion, 
Elizabeth  faced  the  other  two  with  indignation  in 
her  eyes. 

"What's  the  matter*?  "  they  asked. 

Elizabeth  became  ironical.  "You've  had  a  good 
time,  haven't  you — the  best  time  in  these  two  weeks 
and  a  half,  and  you  think  the  Beta  Sigmas  are  per 
fectly  lovely,  don't  you?  "  The  two  nodded. 

"Well,  it  was  all  a  put-up  job,"  tears  were  filling 
Elizabeth's  eyes.  "It  was  breaking  Pan-Hellenic 
and — and  Dick  thought  it  was  all  right." 

Marion  gasped.     "They  did  it  on  purpose1?  " 

"Yes,  and  you  know  how  the  girls  here  talk  about 
a  crowd  that  breaks  Pan-Hellenic !  " 

"No,"  said  Peter,  "we  couldn't  stand  for  anything 
like  that."  All  the  brightness  faded  from  her  face 
at  the  shadow  which  had  come  over  one  of  the  pleas- 
antest  evenings  she  could  remember. 

In  a  voice  of  despair  Marion  commented,  "Well, 
I  suppose  that  does  fix  them — and  when  everything 
was  all  decided,  too." 

Elizabeth,  choking  with  emotion  and  chagrin, 
enlightened  them  still  further.  "And  the  men  are 
betting  on  us  as  if  we  were  race-horses." 

"They  aren't."     Peter  sat  up. 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

"Yes,  the  Theta  Phi  Sigmas  are  keeping  a  book, 
and  there  are  lots  of  outside  bets — Jim  Tabor  has 
thirty  dollars  up — Dick  told  me  so."  Elizabeth 
almost  wept  with  exasperation.  "I'm  the  favourite, 
he  says,  in  the  22-13  dass  for  Beta  Sigma." 

The  other  two  were  speechless. 

Depression  was  well-nigh  turned  into  panic  on 
the  following  evening.  The  girls  had  been  unable 
to  break  a  date  for  a  formal  dinner  at  the  Beta  Sigma 
house.  The  long,  elaborately  decorated  table,  the 
softened  lights,  the  carefully  gowned  girls,  and  the 
music  that  drifted  in  through  the  open  doors,  held 
no  charm  or  sense  of  gaiety.  Elizabeth  was  distant, 
Marion  was  bored,  and  Peter  refused  to  talk.  The 
Beta  Sigmas  caught  the  contagion,  something  akin 
to  stage-fright;  matters  desperate  and  weighty  for 
them  were  hanging  in  the  balance.  They  had  to 
maintain  their  standing  in  the  bitter  rivalry  of 
crowds,  and  these  three  girls  had  been  the  center  of 
their  efforts  that  season. 

Course  followed  course,  each  out-classing  the 
other  in  uniqueness  of  detail.  Favors  were  pinned 
on  amid  forced  enthusiasm,  and  the  glances  ex 
changed  between  Marion  and  Elizabeth  became 
more  anxious.  They  were  troubled  concerning  a 
warning  which  had  been  volunteered  at  Roble  in 

[12] 


THE  THREE  R'S 

the  early  afternoon.  Peter,  down  at  one  end  of  the 
long  table,  had  thrown  all  tact  to  the  winds  and 
found  herself  in  the  direst  complications.  She  had 
thoughtlessly  remarked,  over  fetes  in  general,  that 
the  solitary  repast  of  the  Hindoo  was  ideal  and  that 
banquets  were  a  relic  of  barbarism. 

However,  the  relief  of  the  three  as  the  end  of  the 
dinner  approached,  made  them  quite  exuberant. 
They  were  talking  gaily  when  the  music  stopped  and 
a  sudden  hush  came  over  the  table,  as  Ethel  Gage 
rose  to  speak.  Elizabeth  gave  Marion  a  wild  glance, 
that  said  as  plainly  as  words,  "We're  in  for  it  now," 
and  felt  tempted  to  drop  her  napkin  and  bolt  igno- 
miniously  for  the  door.  Marion's  face  became  stolid, 
and  Peter's  chair  squeaked  on  the  polished  floor. 

Ethel  proved  merely  the  toastmistress  of  the  occa 
sion  and  after  a  few  words  of  sinister  import,  called 
upon  Edith  Horner  to  speak  on  "Advice  to  Fresh 
men."  The  three  had  no  doubt  but  that  they  were 
facing  a  "bid"  with  the  demand  for  an  immediate 
reply.  Every  crowd  had  been  so  insistent  upon  the 
date. 

The  notes  in  Edith's  hand  trembled  ungovernably, 
and  the  Freshmen  watched  her  in  stupid  dread. 

"What's  the  matter  with  those  girls  tonight4?  " 
Ethel  asked  under  cover  of  the  speech. 

[13] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

"They're  so  strained.  Something  must  have  hap 
pened.  They  were  just  the  opposite  the  other 
evening." 

"I  don't  know.  I  guess  they're  going  Lambda 
Eta  and  want  to  let  us  see  it." 

"There's  an  understanding  all  right — did  you  see 
the  glances  they  exchanged?  " 

"I'm  worried  sick  about  them.  I  thought  we  had 
them  sure." 

Late  that  night,  when  the  Hall  was  sunk  in  slum 
ber,  Peter  and  Elizabeth  were  still  discussing  the 
situation. 

"Weren't  the  Lambda  Etas  restful  after  that  aw 
ful  dinner.  How  could  the  Beta  Sigmas  think  that 
such  display  would  make  an  impression?  " 

"Upon  three  tired  Freshmen  looking  for  a  home," 
finished  Peter  wistfully.  "But  do  you  know,  Eliza 
beth,  the  Lambda  Etas  weren't  a  bit  cordial  to  me, 
and  they  fell  all  over  you  and  Elizabeth.  I'm  afraid 
—I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it — that  they  aren't  going 
to  ask  me." 

In  spite  of  the  false  warning  concerning  the  night 
before,  the  girls  still  followed  the  information  of 
fered  by  the  sorority-wise  Robleites  of  their  close 
acquaintance,  and  sent  Peter  to  the  post-office  at  cer 
tain  hours  during  the  day  to  receive  the  mailed  invi- 

[14] 


THREE  R*S 

tations.  They  avoided  meeting  the  sorority  girls 
on  the  Quad  as  if  they  were  plague-stricken. 

After  the  fifth  trip  for  the  mail,  Peter  balked. 
There  had  been  nothing  but  a  letter  from  Dick  for 
Elizabeth.  The  latter  took  the  envelope  and  tore  it 
up  calmly  and  emphatically. 

"I've  been  very  much  disappointed  in  Dick,"  she 
murmured. 

Peter  and  Marion  looked  away.  Then  the  smaller 
girl  said  slowly,  "It's  all  in  a  lifetime — and  a  rush 
ing  season,  Elizabeth." 

A  few  minutes  after  nine  that  evening,  Peter 
walked  slowly  into  her  room.  Her  heart  was  pound 
ing  until  it  almost  suffocated  her.  She  knew  that 
the  bids  had  been  delivered  in  person  an  hour  before. 
By  the  window  Marion  stood  looking  into  the  black 
ness  of  the  night,  morose  and  silent.  Peter  stared 
at  the  back  of  her  head — so  stiff  in  bearing — at  her 
uncompromising  shoulders,  and  words  failed  her. 
She  turned  toward  Elizabeth,  who  sat  on  the  trunk, 
half  stooping  over  and  jerking  the  strap  with  a 
trembling  hand. 

"Is  there  anything  for  me4?  "  Peter  managed  to 
ask. 

Elizabeth  pointed  to  the  table,  and  buried  her 
face  deep  in  a  pillow  that  lay  near. 

[15] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Peter  found  one  letter,  which  she  opened  roughly, 
and  then  she  stood  biting  her  lips,  staring  at  the 
Beta  Sigma  monogram. 

Elizabeth  could  contain  herself  no  longer  and 
sobbed  aloud.  Marion  came  over  from  the  window 
and  put  her  arm  around  Peter  comfortingly. 

The  small  figure  stiffened  and  drew  away.  "Don't 
mind  me,"  she  said  harshly.  "I'm  glad  you're  going 
to  be  happy,  but  I'll  never  join  the  Beta  Sigmas." 

Elizabeth  raised  her  head  and  her  eyes  flashed 
angrily.  "We  won't  go  anything,  Peter,  if  you  can't 
go  with  us." 

"No.  I  won't  stand  for  that."  The  other  shook 
her  head  hopelessly  and  forced  a  weak  smile. 

"I  hate  rushing — I  hate  sororities — I  hate  col 
lege,"  Marion  burst  out  tempestuously. 

"Girls,"  said  Peter  resolutely,  "you  are  going  to 
be  Lambda  Etas.  You  are  going  to  be  happy,  and 
I  am  glad.  It's  nonsense  to  think  of  not  doing  it  just 
because  they  didn't  ask  me.  You  would  always 
regret  it.  There  are  lots  of  advantages  in  fraternity 
life."  There  was  a  note  of  longing  in  Peter's  voice. 
"But  I  shall  console  myself  with  the  disadvantages," 
she  added  whimsically. 

"Peter,"  began  Marion. 

"No,  don't  make  it  any  harder,  for  I'm  going  to 

[16] 


THE   THREE  R'S      , 

be  as  brave  as  I  can.  I'll  miss  you  awfully.  You'll 
never  be  the  same  again.  There  is  a  difference 
already.  You  are  going  up  tomorrow  to  pledge 
yourselves  to  the  Lambda  Etas,  and  I  am  going  now 
to  begin  my  career  as  a  Hall  girl."  Peter's  hand 
was  on  the  door.  She  smiled  as  she  went  out  and 
closed  it  softly  behind  her. 

Marion  and  Elizabeth  stared  at  each  other  in 
amazement.  The  latter  started  for  the  door,  but 
turning  back,  "We've  lost  Peter,"  she  sobbed,  resting 
her  head  upon  the  table,  "and  all  for 

"What?  "  said  Marion  fiercely. 

Marion  and  Elizabeth  were  the  last  breakfasting 
in  the  big  dining-room.  They  could  not,  for  their 
lives,  have  told  the  gist  of  the  editorial  they  were 
so  assiduously  reading,  as  they  allowed  their  meal 
to  grow  cold,  and  it  was  with  feigned  surprise  that 
they  looked  up  at  Margaret's  unusually  cheerful 
"Good  morning,"  as  she  entered  the  room.  They 
watched  her  in  round-eyed  silence  as  she  seated  her 
self,  then  glanced  again  at  the  editorial. 

"Anything  exciting  in  the  'Daily'  ?  " 

"I — don't  know — here,  look  for  yourself,"  said 
Elizabeth  tossing  her  a  paper. 

The  girls  now  became  engrossed  in  the  meal,  oc 
casionally  glancing  up  at  Margaret's  face.  It  was 

[17] 


NOT  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

inscrutable,  betraying  none  of  the  bitterness  that 
they  knew  must  lie  beneath. 

"Going  up  the  Row  in  a  few  minutes'?  "  Margaret 
asked  evenly. 

"Yes,"  the  others  muttered,  with  downcast  eyes. 

"I'm  mighty  glad "  she  began,  but  they  burst 

forth  impulsively,  "O  Peter,  Peter, " 

"Don't,"  said  the  other  hastily,  "there's  absolutely 
no  use." 

So  occupied  were  Marion  and  Elizabeth  with 
their  own  thoughts  that  they  did  not  see  Dick  and 
Shorty  Oliver  as  they  crossed  from  the  Quad  to  the 
Row,  and  consequently  were  unaware  of  their  sur-' 
prise  in  not  seeing  the  third  girl. 

"She  isn't  like  the  old  Peter  at  all,"  Elizabeth  said 
wonderingly. 

"I  don't  know  why,"  Marion  answered,  "but  I 
couldn't  say  a  word  to  her.  I  believe  that  I  was 
afraid  to." 

"I  felt  like  a  whipped  child  that  had  to  go  and 
do  what  it  was  supposed  to,  and  she  was  the  one 
doing  the  supposing." 

"She's  a  brave  girl."  Marion's  tone  was  almost 
envious. 

"And  we're  beastly  little  cowards,"  said  Eliza 
beth  feelingly.  There  was  a  threat  in  Marion's 


THE  THREE  R'S 

voice  as  she  next  spoke.  "I'm  tempted  to  flee  to 
the  hills;  "  but  Elizabeth  made  no  response. 

They  had  walked  almost  half  the  length  of  the 
Row,  not  conscious  of  its  unusual  aspect  for  a  Sat 
urday  morning,  and  just  as  oblivious  to  the  running 
comment  that  took  place  on  the  fraternity  steps  and 
between  the  lawns  and  the  windows.  This  was  the 
one  day  in  the  semester  when  the  sorority  and  the 
fraternity  houses  were  easily  distinguishable;  the 
one,  silent,  curtained,  desolate,  as  if  the  hand  of 
death  had  been  laid  upon  it,  and  the  other  gay  with 
life,  men  sitting  on  the  steps,  men  leaning  from 
fhe  windows,  men  standing  on  the  lawns.  Cushions 
were  flung  to  attract  attention,  and  gleeful  high 
signs  passed  from  house  to  house  as  the  girls  con 
tinued  on  their  way.  Small  bets  were  made  in  an 
undertone,  and  looks  of  surprise  began  to  spread 
as  one  after  another  queried  about  Margaret  Sears. 
All  questions  and  answers  were  carried  on  chiefly 
in  pantomime,  and  so  it  was  that  the  girls,  engrossed 
in  their  thoughts  of  Margaret,  and  the  ordeal  that 
they  were  to  face,  did  not  become  conscious  of  the 
gauntlet  that  they  were  running. 

The  men  began  to  group,  and  there  was  an  in 
tense  silence,  as  the  two  approached  the  Beta  Sigma 
house.  The  girls  seemed  to  hesitate  an  instant  at 

[19] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

the  turn  of  the  walk.  The  breathlessness  of  the  Row 
must  have  influenced  Marion,  for  she  looked  up  sud 
denly  to  catch  the  whole  of  the  Theta  Phi  Sigma 
fraternity  leaning  far  out  of  the  windows  of  their 
house. 

"Come,  hurry,  'Lizbeth,  the  whole  campus  is 
watching  us,"  she  said  nervously.  "I  forgot  about 
the  betting — look  at  that  house." 

"No  wonder  they're  hanging  out  of  their  windows. 
They'll  lose  about  a  hundred  and  sixty  today,  I 
guess.  They  were  betting  on  us,  22-13,  m  favor  of 
Beta  Sigma,"  Elizabeth  said  breathlessly,  attempt 
ing  to  keep  up  with  Marion's  stride. 

They  were  now  well  past  the  Beta  Sigma  house. 
Some  of  the  men  danced  up  and  down,  choking  with 
glee.  The  Theta  Phi  Sigmas  made  the  despairing 
gesture  of  drowning  men  and  disappeared  from  their 
windows.  Cheering  was  heard  in  the  distance,  and 
the  girls  hurried  on. 

Their  feet  grew  heavy  as  they  turned  off  the  Row 
under  the  silent  scrutiny  of  three  fraternity  houses. 
Motionless,  the  men  watched  them  climb  the  steps. 
The  door  swung  half  open  and  engulfed  them 
amidst  the  gleeful  shouts  of  welcome  from  the 
throats  of  twenty  Lambda  Etas. 

For  an  instant  there  was  a  gasp  of  astonishment, 

[20] 


THE  THREE  R'S 

and  then  the  campus  turned  pandemonium  with 
lusty  shout  on  shout  and  clanking  of  cow-bells.  Men 
ran  from  lawn  to  lawn,  voices  buzzed,  rumours 
spread  at  the  rate  of  twenty  or  more  a  minute. 

"Say,  you  Theta  Phis,"  cried  out  one  jubilant 
youth,  "your  22-13's  as  good  almost  as  the  16-1." 

"Hurrah  for  our  Theta  Phi  Bryans,"  shouted 
another.  "When  are  you  going  to  pay  out  your 
checks'?  " 

And  the  campus  laughed.  Then,  insistent  above 
the  joshing  and  the  questions,  came  talk  of  Margaret 
Sears.  Where  is  she*? — Didn't  she  get  bids? — Has 
she  thrown  them  all  down — Impossible,  betting  ran 
highest  on  her.  So  rumor  after  rumor  passed  from 
house  to  house,  like  ripples  on  a  lake.  Miss  Sears 
has  been  suddenly  called  to  the  city — refuted.  Jack 
Spaulding  had  seen  her  that  morning.  She  is  hold 
ing  off — perhaps.  She  did  not  get  the  bid  she 
wanted.  She  had  Beta  Sigma  and  wanted  Lambda 
Eta — and  vice  versa. 

Even  after  initiations  had  been  held,  and  fra 
ternity  and  sorority  life  had  sunk  back  to  the  plane 
of  study  and  queening,  the  ripples  continued,  al 
though  fainter  and  farther  apart.  But  those  who 
could  have  in  part  told,  and  those  who  could  have 
furnished  the  links  to  the  chain  of  the  19 —  rushing 
season  were  silent.  r  -, 


<5irt  an6  a  5lu6ibranc 


A  GIRL  AND  A  NUDIBRANC 

With  a  gesture  that  plainly  said  she  had  finished 
her  work  for  that  afternoon,  Miss  Wayne  tossed  aside 
her  instruments,  and,  half  turning  in  her  chair,  gazed 
around  the  laboratory.  There  was  a  disapproving 
frown  between  her  daintily  arched  eyebrows  as  she 
regarded  the  other  side  of  the  small,  rudely  furnished 
room,  where  six  pairs  of  broad,  masculine  shoulders 
bent  over  microscopes  ranged  along  the  oilcloth-cov 
ered  tables.  It  was  stuffy  inside  and  contrastingly 
breezy  and  delightful  out  on  the  cliffs  which  the  long 
windows  of  the  laboratory  overlooked.  Besides, 
Miss  Wayne  was  not  a  believer  in  excessive  work, 
and  having  been  unusually  industrious  for  two 
hours  she  considered  it  her  duty  to  enliven  the  time 
that  remained.  To  her  it  was  a  huge  joke  that  per 
fectly  able-bodied  men  who  expected  to  make  their 
mark  in  the  world  as  lawyers  and  engineers,  should 
spend  whole  days  trying  to  pick  out  the  nervous 
system  of  a  clam.  And  why,  she  reasoned,  should 
they  grow  round-shouldered  working  over  impossible 
bugs  when  she  was  there  to  entertain  them'? 

On  her  own  side  of  the  room,  Miss  Wayne  had 
little  sympathy,  seated  as  she  was  between  Miss 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Hall  and  Miss  Miller.  The  one  was  a  homely,  good- 
hearted  girl,  excruciatingly  neat,  who  worked  for 
"A's"  with  Phi  Beta  Kappa  in  view.  The  other 
was  a  nervous  school-teacher  who  fussed  unneces 
sarily,  but  who  entirely  disapproved  of  wasting 
time. 

The  men  for  the  most  part  were  quite  willing  to 
be  entertained,  and  submitted  gallantly  to  Miss 
Wayne's  beneficent  rule.  Had  she  not,  with  fem 
inine  artlessness,  imbued  the  daily  routine  of  the 
laboratory  with  the  atmosphere  of  a  pink  tea,  and 
lent  to  the  whole  session  of  the  summer  school  a 
social  glamor  which  those  who  came  there  yearly 
to  do  original  investigation  had  never  dreamed  of? 

Not  that  Miss  Wayne  was  the  kind  that  worked 
without  a  theory.  She  had  reasons  and  stated  them 
frankly.  She  believed  in  cultivating  the  social  side 
of  life  and  did  so  wherever  she  went,  even  amidst 
the  most  discouraging  material.  Her  experiences 
had  led  her  to  the  conclusion  that  men  in  general 
were  vastly  more  interesting  than  girls.  The  chief 
end  of  higher  education  for  women  was  to  fit  them 
intellectually  to  be  leaders  of  select  coteries  and 
salons.  Thus  Miss  Wayne  had  not  hesitated  at 
burying  herself  for  six  weeks  within  the  modest  con 
fines  of  Pacific  Grove  in  order  that  she  might  the 

[26] 


A   GIRL  AND   A   NUDIBRANC 

sooner  add  to  her  list  of  accomplishments  the  dis 
tinction  of  "college  graduate."  With  an  elaborate 
wardrobe  she  had  descended  upon  the  sleepy,  pic 
turesque  town,  for  though  Miss  Wayne  was  very 
democratic  and  mingled  with  the  common  herd,  her 
dress  was  always  in  striking  contrast.  Rather  aristo 
cratic  features  and  quantities  of  light  hair  added  to 
the  attractiveness  of  her  general  frankness  and  good 
comradeship.  As  yet  she  was  unattached,  and  aside 
from  her  approbation  of  masculinity  in  general,  con 
sidered  each  new  man  in  the  light  of  the  possible 
one.  It  was  certain,  however,  that  none  of  the  six 
whose  backs  she  regarded  would  ever  attain  to  that 
eminence. 

Mr.  Thorne,  tall,  grave,  but  with  a  keen  sense 
of  humor  that  played  about  the  corners  of  his 
mouth,  she  had  known  always.  Besides,  he  had 
his  mother  down  with  him.  Mr.  Holt,  although 
he  took  her  to  Del  Monte  as  often  as  she  pleased, 
was  too  casual  in  his  preferences  and  he  could 
never  be  serious.  Bob  Morton,  often  brutal  and 
ungracious  in  his  remarks,  although  he  endured 
her  society,  was  a  sworn  enemy.  He  was  engaged 
to  a  girl  whom  she  hated.  The  rest  were  interesting 
but  impossible. 

[27] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Miss  Wayne  singled  out  Thome  for  her  first 
remark. 

"What's  the  use  of  working  so  hard,  Will?  "  she 
queried. 

Thome  turned  around  with  a  droll  smile.  "De 
pends  on  what  you  call  work,"  he  said.  "Now  some 
people  might  call  this  pleasure." 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Holt,  "whenever  I  want  to  have 
a  little  pleasure,  I'll  ask  the  cook  for  a  clam  and  my 
mother  for  a  darning  needle  and  have  a  perfectly 
lovely  time !  " 

"There's  no  joke  about  this,"  growled  Bob.  His 
clumsiness  with  a  microscope  made  one  think  of  a 
great  big  bear.  He  lost  his  temper  whenever  he 
broke  a  slide  and  worked  three  times  as  hard  over 
his  smudgy  drawings  as  the  others  did.  "Wish  I'd 
taken  Botany,"  he  finished.  "They  go  out  picking 
flowers  every  day." 

Miss  Wayne  laughed.  She  had  a  picture  of  Bob 
out  in  a  field  picking  flowers  for  five  hours'  Uni 
versity  credit. 

Morton  resented  her  laugh.  "And  that's  not 
funny  either,"  he  said. 

"You'd  better  change,"  said  Miss  Wayne.  There 
was  friendly  rivalry  between  the  two  laboratories 

[28] 


A   GIRL  AND  A  NUDIBRANC 

which  occupied  separate  buildings,  and  Bob  had 
changed  twice  already. 

"Well,"  Holt  commented,  "in  spite  of  the  odor 
iferous  atmosphere  over  here  I  think  a  fellow  gets 
more  use  out  of  this  than  pulling  flowers  to  pieces." 

"I've  learned  enough  never  to  eat  another  clam  as 
long  as  I  live,"  said  Miss  Wayne,  "and  I  hear  we're 
going  to  have  a  mussel  bake  soon !  " 

"And  study  them  the  week  after,"  Thorne  smiled. 

Bob  announced  that  they  weren't  half  bad,  and 
Miss  Miller  averred  that  everybody  ate  them  every 
year.  Much  as  she  fought  against  it,  Miss  Miller 
could  keep  out  of  no  conversation  that  was  started, 
and  the  topics  discussed  in  the  laboratory  ranged 
from  clams  to  politics  and  religion. 

Mr.  Brayton,  the  young  assistant,  was  the  first  to 
break  in  upon  the  easy  run  of  talk  that  passed  from 
one  desk  to  another.  He  paused  in  the  doorway  for 
a  moment  considering  who  seemed  most  in  need 
of  aid.  It  might  have  occurred  to  him  that  he  was 
intruding  on  the  languid  atmosphere  of  idleness,  for 
his  presence  suggested  the  idea — "What  will  we 
have  to  do  now1?  "  Miss  Wayne,  looking  up,  caught 
his  eye  and  in  answer  to  her  smile  and  gesture  of  dis 
tress,  he  approached  her  desk.  Mr.  Brayton  was 
tall,  dark,  broad-shouldered,  and  remarkably  good- 

[29] 


NOT  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

looking.  It  was  evident  to  every  one  in  the  labor 
atory  that  Miss  Wayne  looked  upon  him  with  espe 
cial  favor.  He  was  the  only  real  possibility  down 
there.  In  this  respect  he  stood  out  in  contrast  to  the 
six  who  ornamented  one  side  of  the  laboratory.  And 
in  addition  to  his  handsomeness  and  a  certain  amount 
of  reserve,  there  was  the  superiority  of  his  position 
in  the  narrow  life  of  the  summer  school.  He  was 
the  final  authority,  even  more  so  than  Professor 
Waters,  who  did  research  work  upstairs  upon  nudi- 
brancs. 

Miss  Wayne  had  a  great  respect  for  learning  of 
any  kind,  and  she  liked  people  who  were  quiet  and 
reserved.  She  had  written  to  her  dearest  friend  that 
she  intended  to  rush  Mr.  Brayton  when  she  returned 
to  college.  Oblivious  of  this,  Mr.  Brayton  showed 
no  tendency  toward  anything  save  utter  indifference. 
In  fact,  it  was  doubtful  whether  he  entirely  approved 
of  Miss  Wayne.  He  made  suggestions  relative  to 
her  work  in  his  most  professional  manner  and  merely 
smiled  superiorly  when  she  marveled  at  his  skill  in 
dissecting. 

"How  can  you  be  so  cruel,  Mr.  Bray  ton4?"  she 
exclaimed  over  the  intricacy  of  the  drawing  that 
he  required.  He  relented  so  far  as  to  bring  her  a 
book  in  which  there  was  a  very  clear  diagram,  and 

[30] 


A   GIRL  AND  A  NUDIBRANC 

then  blamed  himself  for  having  done  so.  He  be 
lieved  in  showing  no  preferences  and  required  the 
same  work  from  everybody,  but  Miss  Wayne  some 
how  always  managed  to  escape  the  drudgery.  She 
spent  most  of  her  time  in  inventing  ways  to  evade 
the  disagreeable  things,  and  she  did  it  so  ingeni 
ously  that  Brayton  hardly  blamed  her  for  it. 

During  the  last  ten  minutes  of  the  afternoon,  Pro 
fessor  Waters  came  down  from  upstairs.  He  stood 
in  the  doorway  holding  something  on  the  palm  of 
his  outstretched  hand,  with  the  other  beckoning  the 
students  of  both  the  inner  and  outer  rooms  to  gather 
around.  They  did  so  with  much  needless  creaking 
and  shuffling;  and  when  they  were  packed  into  a 
semi-circle  of  questioning  faces,  the  Professor  cleared 
his  throat  and  began,  "Now  I  want  everybody  to 
see  this.  This  is  a  nudibranc.  Mr.  Brayton  will 
please  write  the  name  on  the  board — nudibranc.  It 
belongs  to  the  family  of  mollusks.  I  want  every 
body  to  see  this  because  we  are  going  collecting 
again  in  the  morning  and  I  want  the  class  particu 
larly  to  look  for  nudibrancs.  This  one  happens  to 
be  yellow,  but  we  find  them  in  all  different  colors. 
Out  over  the  sink  I  have  posted  a  description  of  a 
gray  one  which  I  am  very  anxious  to  find.  There 
is  a  reward  for  any  specimen  in  good  condition.  Five 

[31] 


NOT1  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

years  ago  one  of  that  kind  was  found  here,  but  none 
have  been  collected  since."  Professor  Waters  paused. 
"That's  all,"  he  said  abruptly  and  vanished. 

Miss  Wayne  sought  out  Mr.  Brayton.  She 
wanted  to  see  the  nudibranc  that  had  been  collected 
five  years  ago,  so  that  she  could  not  possibly  miss 
another  if  she  came  across  it. 

The  assistant  considered,  and  then  going  upstairs 
returned  bringing  a  small  bottle  containing  a  gray 
and  white  snail-like  creature  no  larger  than  a  thim 
ble.  He  left  it  with  Miss  Wayne  who  with  extreme 
care  removed  it  from  the  bottle  and  examined  it  on 
all  sides. 

Then  suddenly  it  was  four  o'clock.  Every  one 
was  emptying  pans,  shutting  drawers  and  putting 
instruments  away.  In  her  hurry,  Miss  Wayne 
dumped  the  gray  nudibranc  into  a  general  specimen 
jar  and  put  the  cover  on. 

The  last  Mr.  Brayton  saw  of  her  she  was  stand 
ing  on  the  steps  laughingly  inviting  Thome  and  Holt 
to  have  tea  in  the  little  Japanese  tea-garden  that 
overlooked  the  bay.  Her  glance  really  included  the 
assistant,  but  she  did  not  quite  dare  to  ask  him. 

Two  days  later  the  class  was  still  amusing  itself 
with  killing  the  nudibrancs  which  had  been  collected, 
using  the  process  of  slow  alcohol  whereby  they  died 

[32] 


A   GIRL  AND   A  NUDIBRANC 

beautifully  extended  and  not  rolled  up  in  a  hard 
ball.  There  had  been  great  rivalry  between  Thorne 
and  Miss  Wayne  as  to  which  one  had  found  the  most, 
while  Bob  Morton,  who  had  notoriously  helped  him 
self  from  everybody  else's  pail,  had  put  in  his  claim. 
It  was  a  little  matter  to  Miss  Wayne,  but  for  the 
sake  of  the  jest,  for  she  was  nothing  if  not  game, 
she  had  looked  around  for  another  to  add  to  her 
seven  so  that  they  might  compete  with  Thome's 
eight.  She  saw  the  five-year  old  gray  nudibranc  in 
the  specimen  jar,  and  without  further  thought  de 
posited  Professor  Waters's  prize  exhibit  in  the  dish 
of  half  dead  ones.  They  were  funny  little  creatures, 
red,  purple,  and  yellow,  some  with  graceful  tentacle- 
like  protuberances  on  their  backs. 

When  all  of  them  were  finally  pronounced  dead, 
they  were  transferred  to  a  permanent  bottle,  where 
the  little  gray  nudibranc  would  have  rested  in  peace 
until  it  had  become  lost  forever,  had  not  Mr.  Thorne 
discovered  it  as  he  casually  stopped  at  Miss  Wayne's 
desk  in  an  effort  to  waste  time  and  meanwhile  assure 
himself  that  she  had  counted  them  straight. 

"Where  did  you  get  this?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Wayne,  forgetting,  "one  of  the 
nudibrancs?  I  don't  remember  just  which  pool  I 

[33] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

fished  him  out  of.  What's  the  matter  with  him? 
Anything  extraordinary1?  " 

"Why,"  Mr.  Thorne  was  really  excited.  "It's  a 
gray  one,  the  one  Professor  Waters  wanted.  I  won 
der  why  I  didn't  see  it  before?  " 

Professor  Waters  was  in  the  outer  room,  and  with 
out  waiting  further,  Thorne  rushed  in.  "Did  you 
see  this,  Professor?  "  he  exploded.  "Isn't  this  that 
gray  nudibranc  you  were  speaking  about?  Miss 
Wayne  picked  it  up." 

Professor  Waters  took  one  look,  then  he  beck 
oned  frantically  to  both  classes.  "Everybody  come 
here,"  he  said.  "Some  one  has  found  a  gray  nudi 
branc."  The  students  gathered  hurriedly,  and  he 
continued,  his  countenance  beaming  with  satisfac 
tion.  "Notice  the  gray  edges  fading  into  the  narrow 
white  margin!  That's  what  I  wanted!  Where  did 
you  find  it,  Miss  Wayne?  In  under  the  shadow  of 
a  rock?  That's  where  they  hide !  " 

The  girl  was  bewildered.  She  knew  that  some 
thing  was  wrong,  and  yet  it  seemed  as  though  she 
must  have  found  it  if  it  was  with  her  collection.  "I 
don't  remember  exactly,"  she  stammered.  "Can  I 
see  it  a  minute,  please?"  The  bottle  was  passed  over. 

Then  Miss  Wayne  remembered,  and  collapsed  into 
her  chair  helplessly.  Professor  Waters  was  leaning 

[34] 


A   GIRL  AND  A  NUDIBRANC 

over  her  desk  congratulating  her,  telling  her  how 
well  she  had  preserved  the  specimen,  and  even  strain 
ing  a  point  to  say  that  Mr.  Brayton  had  commented 
favorably  on  her  work.  He  was  all  affability  and 
pleasantness  because  he  was  pleased.  That  was  his 
way. 

"But,"  Miss  Wayne  began,  "but," — and  then  her 
voice  died  away.  She  lacked  the  moral  courage. 
In  her  devotion  to  the  social  side  of  life,  she  had 
often  found  it  expedient  and  convenient  to  slide  over 
small  points  of  honor,  and  she  was  weak  in  that 
respect.  She  hesitated,  and  Professor  Waters  de 
parted  upstairs  with  his  treasure,  not  knowing.  Pres 
ently  Miss  Wayne's  sense  of  humor  and  her  happy- 
go-lucky  disposition  came  to  help  her  out.  "Well,  if 
he  doesn't  know  his  own  five-year-old  specimen,  I 
think  it  is  a  huge  joke."  Besides,  she  still  felt  the 
situation  within  her  grasp,  even  if  it  came  to  a  tact 
ful  explanation.  She  was  the  heroine  for  the  rest 
of  the  afternoon  and  carried  off  her  triumph  ad 
mirably. 

"Just  pass  some  of  your  luck  over  this  way," 
called  the  genial  Holt. 

"I  bet  you  bought  it  somewhere,"  growled  Bob 
Morton. 

[35] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Miss  Wayne  laughed,  for  she  never  let  Bob  know 
when  he  offended. 

Mr.  Brayton  had  also  joined  in  the  congratula 
tions  and  wondered  at  her  phenomenal  good  fortune. 
Just  as  the  class  was  leaving  he  went  upstairs  in 
answer  to  the  summons  of  Professor  Waters. 

"Get  me  that  other  nudibranc,  John,"  he  said.  "I 
want  to  compare  it  with  this  one  belonging  to  Miss 
Wayne." 

Then  Mr.  Brayton  remembered.  He  dashed 
downstairs  and  picked  up  the  empty  bottle  from 
Miss  Wayne's  desk — the  bottle  which  had  contained 
the  gray  nudibranc  for  the  last  five  years.  Mr. 
Brayton  could  not  believe  what  he  knew  must  be  so. 
He  looked  in  all  the  alcohol  jars  and  collecting  pails 
near  by.  Then  he  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 
There  was  no  use  looking  for  the  thing.  Professor 
Waters  had  it  up  in  his  office  at  that  minute.  He 
was  astounded  at  the  nerve  of  a  certain  girl.  It 
couldn't  have  been  a  joke,  and  the  object  of  it 
floored  him.  He  thought.  Professor  Waters  called 
down  impatiently  and  he  went  up.  The  result  was 
some  lie  about  having  overhauled  the  supply  closet 
recently  and  misplaced  it.  Thome  came  into  the 
laboratory  for  some  article  that  he  had  forgotten 

[36] 


A   GIRL  AND  A  NUDIBRANC 

and  heard  Professor  Waters's  parting  words  as  Mr. 
Brayton  came  downstairs  again. 

"I  wish  you  would  look  through  everything  im 
mediately,  John.  It's  very  annoying  not  to  have  it 
for  comparison." 

"Lose  something,  Brayton?"  asked  Thome  sym 
pathetically. 

"The  original  gray  nudibranc,"  was  the  answer. 

"Did  you  leave  it  down  here?" 

"Yes,  right  here,"  and  he  brought  his  fist  down 
emphatically  on  Miss  Wayne's  desk.  There  was 
sarcasm  in  his  voice  and  he  knew  it,  but  he  could 
not  help  it.  He  set  his  teeth  hard  to  prevent  him 
self  from  saying  anything  further.  Mr.  Thome 
whistled  softly,  and  Brayton  bolted  out  where  the 
stiff  sea-breeze  and  the  little  path  along  the  cliffs 
invited  him  to  walk.  His  ears  tingled  with  the  re 
buke  against  his  carelessness,  and  he  was  mad — 
swearing  mad.  He  railed  against  co-education  and 
especially  against  a  certain  type  of  butterfly  girl  who 
came  to  college  for  no  reason  in  particular,  who 
butted  in  on  the  sacred  precincts  of  Science,  and  who 
juggled  valuable  specimens  without  any  apparent 
regard  of  consequences.  She  was  the  cause  of  his 
first  break  with  Professor  Waters,  upon  whose  erratic 

[37] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

preferment  he  was  relying  to  obtain  a  certain  position 
for  the  following  year. 

For  the  next  few  days  Brayton  stalked  around  the 
laboratory  with  the  manner  and  the  bearing  of  a 
martyr.  He  was  extremely  frigid  and  avoided  Miss 
Wayne  when  possible.  The  latter  was  unusually 
subdued.  The  reward  for  the  nudibranc  had  come  to 
her  through  the  postoffice  without  comment  and  ad 
dressed  in  Mr.  Bray  ton's  hand.  She  perceived  the 
disdain  in  which  she  was  held  by  the  young  assistant. 
She  thought  that  he  seemed  pale  and  worried  and 
that  Professor  Waters  was  unusually  sharp  with  him. 

Then,  too,  there  was  something  the  matter  with 
Will.  One  day  he  had  walked  out  on  the  point  with 
her  and  talked  of  nothing  but  Brayton;  of  what  a 
fine  fellow  he  was  and  how  he  was  all  cut  up  be 
cause  Professor  Waters  was  down  on  him.  Then, 
too,  he  told  how  the  assistant  was  working  himself 
to  death  going  out  at  four  every  morning  looking 
for  some  kind  of  nudibranc.  Thome's  conversation 
was  evidently  to  a  purpose,  and  though  Miss  Wayne 
had  appeared  entirely  oblivious  to  it,  she  was  deeply 
impressed.  She  saw  that  she  had  evidently  "done 
something,"  and  that  Mr.  Brayton  was  suffering  on 
account  of  it;  this  was  another  of  those  bothersome 
situations  into  which  she  was  always  running,  where 

[38] 


A   GIRL  AND  A  NUDIBRANC 

everybody  else  expected  her  to  do  something  of  which 
she  was  entirely  ignorant.  "Why,"  she  wondered, 
"did  people  take  things  so  seriously?  "  Miss  Wayne 
pouted  with  annoyance.  "These  science  people," 
she  kept  reiterating.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Brayton 
ignored  her  as  though  she  were  an  insignificant  no 
body!  Miss  Wayne's  pride  rose. 

By  all  means,  he  should  have  back  his  valuable 
nudibranc !  It  made  no  difference  to  her  in  the  least. 
With  her  sweetest  smile  she  interviewed  Professor 
Waters  and  borrowed  the  gray  nudibranc,  "in  order 
to  make  a  drawing  from  it,"  as  she  said,  "for  her 
notebook."  Ten  minutes  later  it  was  in  Mr.  Bray- 
ton's  hands  without  explanation.  Mr.  Brayton 
accepted  it  without  comment  and  considered  that 
only  just  restitution  had  been  made.  He  renewed 
the  story  about  the  overhauling  of  the  supply  closet 
and  as  evidence  of  his  successful  search  produced  the 
gray  nudibranc  in  its  original  bottle.  Professor 
Waters  reduced  the  charge  against  him  from  one  of 
gross  carelessness  to  one  of  negligence.  Miss  Wayne 
regained  her  gaiety  of  spirits  and  entertained  the  six 
unusually  well  until  a  demand  was  made  for  the 
specimen  which  she  had  borrowed  to  draw.  It  was 
Brayton  who  brought  the  request,  and  he  was  for  a 
moment  staggered  when  she  paralleled  his  lie  about 

[39] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

the  supply  closet  with  one  of  having  taken  the  speci 
men  home  and  lost  it  because  of  the  carelessness  of 
the  landlady.  However,  in  an  interview  with  Pro 
fessor  Waters  later,  Miss  Wayne  gained  a  much  bet 
ter  idea  of  the  seriousness  of  juggling  with  a  valuable 
specimen.  Somehow  she  received  the  vague  impres 
sion  that  her  hours  depended  on  her  finding  a  certain 
gray  nudibranc,  the  whereabouts  of  which  she  knew 
perfectly  well.  It  was  not  so  much  what  he  said  as 
what  he  looked  and  didn't  say,  and  that  awful  hint 
about  the  hours.  Miss  Wayne  was  thunderstruck — 
it  would  mean  an  extra  semester  at  college,  and  all 
for  a  very  small  insignificant  animal  that  she  had 
never  heard  of  a  month  before.  Something  had  to 
be  done,  however,  and  Miss  Wayne  was  never  at  a 
loss  when  action  became  imperative.  She  had  found 
that  she  generally  succeeded  in  her  undertakings,  and 
if  a  nudibranc  was  to  be  found,  she  did  not  doubt 
for  a  moment  but  that  she  was  capable  of  getting  it. 
Her  methods  were  convenient  if  rather  unscien 
tific,  an,  improvement  on  Bray  ton's,  she  thought. 
The  man  himself  wondered  how  she  would  handle 
the  situation,  though  he  was  convinced  that  it  did  not 
concern  him  in  the  least  and  that  she  was  entirely 
efficient.  When  the  class  was  through  that  day,  Miss 
Wayne  went  down  to  the  bath-house  and  interviewed 

[40] 


A   GIRL  AND  A  NUDIBRANC 

a  number  of  small  boys  who  habitually  hung  around 
the  mechanical  pianos  on  the  porch  which  overlooked 
the  beach.  The  next  morning  her  alarm  clock  went 
off  at  four.  Brayton,  who  was  also  out  early  looking 
for  laboratory  material,  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
gray  skirt  and  sweater  scarcely  distinguishable  in 
the  fog  of  the  early  morning.  She  was  headed  out 
the  little  path  that  ran  along  the  cliffs  to  the  light 
house,  and  behind  her  trailed  six  young  urchins.  Mr. 
Brayton  almost  dropped  his  pail  in  astonishment 
and  wonderingly  worked  up  the  rocks  in  that  direc 
tion.  He  came  upon  her  seated  on  a  commanding 
rock  near  the  shore.  Below  her  the  six  small  boys 
scrambled  over  the  slippery  seaweed,  dived  into  the 
pools  left  by  the  receding  tide,  or  scampered  over 
the  rocks  like  young  crabs. 

The  fog  still  hung  low,  and  offshore,  through  the 
white  blanket  could  be  heard  the  voices  of  the 
fishermen  calling  from  boat  to  boat  as  they  rowed 
out  toward  the  entrance  of  the  bay.  Miss  Wayne, 
however,  was  too  busy  to  notice  them.  She  was 
superintending  peremptorily  the  actions  of  the  small 
boys,  pointing  now  to  one  pool  and  now  to  an 
other,  as  worth  their  attention. 

"Good  morning,  you're  out  early,  Miss  Wayne," 
called  the  man. 

[41] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

"Oh,  I  often  come  out  to  see  the  sunrise,"  she 
answered. 

Then  Miss  Wayne  stood  up.  "Here  you,"  she 
cried,  "work  nearer  inshore,  you  never  find  them  out 
that  far." 

Mr.  Brayton  was  puzzled  and  could  not  restrain 
his  curiosity. 

"May  I  ask  what  you're  looking  for?  "  he  said. 

"A  gray  nudibranc,"  Miss  Wayne  replied  calmly 
and  with  some  hauteur. 

"You  don't  mean"-       -  began  the  man. 

"My  hours  depend  upon  it,"  she  interrupted. 

"He  wasn't  that  hard  on  you!  Why,  why  didn't 
you  keep  the  one  you  had  once1?  " 

"I  was  given  to  understand  that  it  was  making 
trouble,  and  I  wasn't  going  to  let  you  have  all  the 
fun  of  finding  another,  you  know." 

Brayton  almost  forgave  her,  but  not  quite. 

"Was  it  a  joke?  "  he  asked. 

"Not  exactly,"  said  Miss  Wayne;  "it  began  with 
an  accident.  I  didn't  remember  where  I  put  it,  and 
then  when  I  did " 

There  was  a  scream  from  one  of  the  urchins,  fol 
lowed  by  a  splash,  out  where  the  green  swells  washed 
the  farthest  rocks.  The  other  boys  shouted  and  ran 
in  that  direction,  and  Mr.  Brayton  shot  down  over 

[42] 


A   GIRL  AND   A  NUDIBRANC 

the  rocks,  leaping  from  point  to  point  with  unerring 
balance  and  firmness  of  foothold.  The  little  fellow 
with  true  primitive  instinct  was  dog-paddling  in  the 
deep  pool  below  the  rock,  though  too  terror-stricken 
to  be  conscious  of  it.  The  man  pulled  him  out  by 
the  back  of  his  collar,  and  the  next  minute  the  sob 
bing  youngster,  wrapped  in  Miss  Wayne's  sweater 
and  Mr.  Brayton's  coat,  was  being  hurried  home. 

"Another  score  against  the  nudibranc,"  com 
mented  the  girl  as  they  walked  back  along  the  little 
path  on  the  cliffs.  She  was  holding  the  boy's  hand 
and  drying  his  tears  at  intervals. 

"It's  my  fault,"  she  added,  "for  being  so  unpardon- 
ably  lazy.  I  should  have  looked  for  it  myself.  I 
suppose  it's  all  part  of  what  I  deserved." 

Mr.  Brayton  was  not  quite  sure  what  he  should 
say. 

"I'm  afraid,  Mr.  Brayton,"  the  girl  broke  in,  "that 
you  don't  approve  of  me  in  the  least." 

"I  confess" — the  other  was  rather  startled — "that 
I  didn't  understand " 

"And  that  I  haven't  explained  it  yet,"  Miss 
Wayne  finished.  "Well,  there  isn't  any  explanation, 

and  still "  Miss  Wayne's  inflection  implied  all 

that  she  left  unsaid. 

Mr.  Brayton  felt  that  his  resentment  was  losing 

[43] 


NOT  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

ground.  He  could  not  hold  fast  to  it  in  the  light  of 
such  frankness  and  generosity.  They  had  almost  for 
gotten  the  little  fellow  who  was  stumbling  along 
between  them.  He  had  stopped  sobbing,  and  be 
tween  his  chattering  teeth  queried,  "Wot  you  scrap- 
pin'  about4?" 

"Nothing,"  said  the  man,  "only  an  unfortunate 
lack  of  a  sense  of  humor." 

Miss  Wayne  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  and  then 
suddenly  reverting  to  other  topics,  kept  up  a  lively 
conversation  the  remainder  of  the  walk. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Brayton  made  an  early  and  hur 
ried  trip  to  Carmel,  where  he  explored  numerous 
tide-caves  thoroughly  and  successfully.  He  brought 
back  something  at  the  sight  of  which  Miss  Wayne 
almost  became  hysterical  with  joy  and  which  they 
spent  all  day  Sunday  killing  by  the  process  of  slow 
alcohol,  in  the  quiet  and  deserted  laboratory. 

That  evening  Thorne  watched  them  sauntering 
out  to  enjoy  the  afterglow  of  the  sunset  on  the 
waves  off  the  Point.  Miss  Wayne's  smart  figure 
showed  well  on  the  skyline  beside  the  silhouette  of 
the  tall,  broad-shouldered  assistant.  Miss  Wayne 
was  gesticulating  with  animation.  Thorne  whistled 
and  sat  down  on  a  rock  suddenly.  "That  gets  me," 
he  said. 

[44] 


on 


PREPDOM  ON  PARADE 

"Daniel  Gibbons,  Youngstown — last  of  the 
Mohicans!  "  The  long  sheet  of  Interscholastic  en 
tries  came  off  the  machine  with  a  vicious  tear 
as  Graham,  sole  survivor  of  the  bunch  of  im 
pressed  typists,  tilted  his  chair  back  wearily 
against  the  big  study  table  in  Room  1 1  o,  En- 
cina,  and  regarded  the  Board  of  Governors  over 
his  shoulder.  He  had  slipped  with  versatile  alacrity 
from  a  tedious,  one-fingered  execution  on  the  rattling 
old  Remington  borrowed  from  the  "Daily"  office 
into  his  official  capacity  as  President  of  the  Board. 

Graham  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and 
thoughtfully  considered  the  battered  alarm-clock  be 
side  him.  "Everybody  here1?  "  he  yawned  down  the 
table,  counting  off  the  eight  or  nine  men  in  a  glance. 

Room  no  had  grown  to  be,  in  Graham's  four 
years  of  Hall  residence,  the  favourite  meeting-place 
of  the  clans,  from  the  chronic  queeners  who  lounged 
about,  retailing  gossipy  morsels  or  exchanging  dances 
for  the  next  Prom,  to  the  track  and  baseball  men 
who  wagged  their  heads  solemnly  over  their  own 
prophecies  on  coming  week-end  events.  Graham  had 
come  into  living  contact  with  all  the  intricacies  of 

[47] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

the  problems  discussed  under  his  hospitable  roof. 
And  there  was  something  in  his  perspective  that  went 
beyond  an  intimacy  with  the  affairs  of  his  Alma 
Mater,  something  that  made  even  the  men  who 
knew  him  best  strangely  uncomfortable  with  him  at 
times.  They  were  conscious  of  that  disconcerting 
laughter  of  the  gods  twinkling  behind  his  gray  eyes. 
It  was  as  if  Graham  played  his  part  with  enthusiastic 
loyalty  but  from  a  view-point  that  gauged  the  sig 
nificance  of  it  all,  not  by  the  exaggerated  and  colossal 
importance  of  immature,  college  interests,  but  by 
the  fundamentals  of  an  outside  world  forgotten  in 
the  four  halcyon  years  of  the  undergraduate.  Yet 
the  proverbial  red  of  the  Stanford  spirit  pulsed 
warmly  through  his  husky  frame  and  the  whole- 
heartedness  of  his  devotion  in  doing  the  things  his 
University  asked  him  to  do  was  more  than  con 
vincing  to  those  who  suspected  him  at  odd  moments 
of  a  preponderance  of  the  philosopher. 

"Meeting'll  come  to  order,"  he  began.  The  Board 
of  Governors  settled  themselves  in  their  chairs  and  as 
a  special  mark  of  respect  for  the  occasion,  took  their 
feet  down  from  the  table — all  except  Shorty  Oliver, 
whose  irrepressibleness  the  community  had  long  since 
agreed  to  ignore. 

"We've  fixed  up  the  housing  of  the  Preps,  fellows, 

[48] 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

and  I'll  give  you  the  list  as  it  stands  now.  We  can 
make  any  minor  changes  you  suggest.  But  before 
I  begin  I'd  like  to  say  that  this  job  hasn't  been  any 
pipe-dream.  There  isn't  a  house  that  hasn't  had  a 
kick  coming  on  some  score — some  one  they  wanted 
they  didn't  get,  or  some  one  they  got  they  didn't 
want.  Well,  it  was  up  to  us  to  take  them  as  the 
applications  came  in  and  do  our  best.  I've  made 
out  duplicate  lists  as  the  thing  stands  now.  Here, 
Dean,  hand  'em  round.  Give  each  fellow  his  own 
and  I'll  read  for  the  absentees.  You  begin,  old 
man,"  he  commanded.  Dean  sorted  out  the  official- 
looking  cards  handed  to  him  and  hurriedly  read 
off  the  string  of  guests  allotted  to  Theta  Phi. 

"We  made  fifteen  applications,"  the  latter  com 
mented  in  a  disgruntled  voice  as  he  finished;  "six 
of  the  Madison  men,  some  of  the  Oakland  kids  and 
a  bunch  from  St.  John's.  You've  only  given  us 
twelve  here  and  two  of  the  fellows  we've  never  even 
heard  of." 

"Get  out  your  data  on  pedigree,  Mr.  President," 
Shorty  Oliver  observed  facetiously.  "Nothin'  short 
o'  blue  ribbons  will  get  a  Prep  floor  space  in  Room 
27,  Encina,  I  can  tell  you.  I'm  particular,  I  am." 

Graham  did  not  appear  to  have  heard  him.  "Look 
here,  Dean,"  he  remonstrated  with  the  Theta  Phi. 

[49] 


"You've  got  your  Madison  men  all  right,  ten  of 
them." 

"More'n  we  want,"  Dean  replied  shortly,  "and  we 
get  left  on  the  others  entirely — Oakland  and  the 
South,"  he  added  complainingly  a  moment  later. 

"Well,  you  know  we  can't  split  a  big  team  like 
the  Madison  bunch  just  because  your  fraternity 
hasn't  got  a  rec  for  them  all.  As  for  the  others, — 
you  ought  not  to  take  any  chances,  old  boy,  when 
war  manoeuvres  are  on !  The  Alpha  Zets  were  up 
too  early  for  you,  that's  all.  They  asked  for  the  St. 
John's  men,  too,  and  their  application  was  in  a 
month  ago." 

"Dear  me !  "  came  in  a  mocking  aside  from  Shorty 
as  he  lifted  his  right  foot  from  the  table  and  prodded 
a  fellow-committeeman's  ribs  to  gain  his  attention. 
"I'm  afraid  to  death  I  am  going  to  miss  getting  that 
charming  little  spinort  from  Milpitas.  I  meant  to 
apply  to  Graham  for  him  last  season !  Ain't  it  a  pity, 
huh?  " 

The  flippancy  of  the  irrepressible  member  was 
coldly  ignored. 

"Come  on,  Carson,  give  them  your  data,"  Graham 
directed,  as  a  tall,  quiet-spoken  fellow  at  the  other 
end  of  the  table  spread  out  his  lists  in  front  of  him, 
adjusted  himself  in  his  chair  and  proceeded  to  launch 

[50] 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

upon  the  interested  Board  of  Governors  a  role  of  eli- 
gibles  which  represented  Alpha  Zeta's  hopes  pros 
pective  for  the  next  four  years  to  come.  The  names 
of  the  coveted  St.  John's  youths  finished  off  Carson's 
list,  but  there  was  an  impersonal  note  in  the  Alpha 
Zet's  voice  which  disarmed  the  irritation  of  his 
scooped  fellow-committeemen. 

"By  the  way,  who  are  they?  Howard  Hoyt,  St. 
John's;  Stuart  Logan,  St.  John's;  Clarence  Dean." 
Graham's  voice  held  a  note  of  amused  curiosity. 
"Not  one  of  the  applications  missed  them.  That's 
popularity,  eh?  Any  relation,  old  man?  "  he  queried, 
as  he  turned  laughingly  toward  Dean. 

The  perusal  of  lists  became  patently  self-conscious 
the  length  of  the  table.  Only  half-repressed,  a 
chuckle  of  amusement  made  itself  audible  in  the 
room  as  Dean  retorted  with  obvious  bravado,  "Yes, 
it's  my  kid  brother  and  a  couple  of  his  friends.  I'm 
afraid  that  Carson's  claims  will  have  to  be  waived. 
I  have  a  letter  here,"  diving  awkwardly  into  his 
inside  pocket,  "from  Mrs.  Logan,  accepting  our  in 
vitation  a  week  or  more  ago." 

Graham  took  the  letter  perfunctorily  and  read 
aloud. 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

THE  ELMS, 

T^       „  GOWER  STREET,  Los  ANGELES. 

Dear  Harry, 

Your  delightful  invitation  for  Stuart  and  myself 
to  spend  Interscholastic  week  with  you  at  Stanford 
is  accepted,  of  course,  with  much  pleasure.  If  I  had 
needed  anything  to  persuade  me,  your  mother's  de 
scription  of  your  attractive  club-house  and  the  life 
the  boys  lead  so  happily  together,  would  have  been 
quite  enough.  I  have  promised  your  mother  besides 
that  I  will  look  after  Clarence  and  see  that  he  takes 
care  of  his  cold,  so  you  may  expect  me  with  my  little 
brood  sometime  Saturday  morning.  Howard  Hoyt 
is  to  be  with  us,  Stuart  tells  me. 

I  wonder  if  I  may  dare  impose  further  on  your 
hospitality?  There  is  a  little  Mr.  Osberger  from 
Santa  Monero  who  is  going  up  with  us — a  school 
mate  of  Howard's  in  the  East,  I  believe.  I  think 
he  will  do  very  nicely  in  the  Meet,  and  as  he  knows 
no  one  at  Stanford,  it  would  be  pleasant  for  him  to 
be  with  our  boys.  May  I  take  the  liberty  of  bringing 
him  with  us? 

With  best  wishes  from  all, 

Sincerely  yours, 

MARY  A.  LOGAN. 

The  half-repressed  titter  had  become  frank  amuse 
ment  before  Graham  stopped.  Shorty  Oliver,  with 
deep  commiseration  on  his  face  turned  tantalizingly 
toward  Carson.  "F-f- f- foiled !  "  he  muttered  tragi 
cally. 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

A  frank-spoken  Hall  man  next  to  Dean  delivered 
himself  of  a  few  blunt  words  on  "cute  tactics"  and 
the  Theta  Phi's  cheeks  coloured  angrily. 

"Popular  trio  that,"  Graham  growled,  shoving 
Dean's  letter  back  at  him.  "What  does  their  ticket 
read?  Money,  family,  athletics"?  " 

"No !  brains,  of  course,  brains !  Phi  Tappa  Keg 
candidates  at  least — all  that!  "  Shorty  glanced  ap 
preciatively  at  Dean. 

A  suspicion  of  that  disconcerting  laughter 
twinkled  in  Graham's  eyes. 

The  modesty  and  almost  shame-facedness  of  the 
Alpha  Zet  member  in  pushing  his  request  for  the 
three  coveted  Preps  gave  the  more  aggressive  Rowites 
something  to  wonder  at.  The  frank-spoken  Hall 
man  was  assailing  Dean  angrily. 

"Look  here,  they're  the  only  three  men  Carson 
asked  for  that  he  got,  and  hang  it,  look  at  your  own 
bunch  there." 

"Sort  of  a  free-for-all  rushing  festivity,  eh, 
Mike?  "  Shorty's  undertone  to  his  next-door  neigh 
bour  was  an  audible  stage  whisper.  "Most  as  good 
as  a  Tan-Hell'  mix-up,  ain't  it?  " 

"It's  my  opinion,"  Carson  blurted  out  frankly, 
"that  we  had  better  put  all  these  over-popular  Preps 

[53] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

up  in  the  Hall  if  we  want  to  make  an  athletic  event 
of  the  thing." 

"Sky-rocket!  "  roared  Shorty,  "then  I'll  get  Mil- 
pitas  !  " 

"Look  here,  fellows,"  Dean  broke  in  desperately, 
"Carson  wants  some  of  that  Madison  bunch.  We'll 
hand  over  four  if  you'll  give  us  the  three  St.  John's 
kids.  Is  it  a  go?  " 

A  condemning  silence  of  a  half  minute  greeted 
the  proposal,  a  silence  that  to  Dean  was  as  discon 
certing  as  anything  he  had  ever  experienced  in  his 
life.  He  knew  that  in  the  eyes  of  every  man  on  the 
Board  he  was  detected  as  an  apostle  of  self-interest, 
a  rooter  for  Theta  Phi  first,  a  Stanford  man  only 
when  his  fraternity  interests  had  been  subserved. 
Graham's  face  showed  his  annoyance  as  he  said  de 
cisively,  "I  told  you  before,  Dean,  that  a  big  team 
like  that  is  not  going  to  be  split  to  serve  your  pur 
pose  or  anyone  else's.  We  will  find  some  one  to  take 
them  if  you  won't.  As  to  the  Southern  men,  your 
brother,  of  course,  you've  got  a  claim  to.  The 
others " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!  I  abdicate,  your  Honour," 
Carson  broke  in,  heartily,  "in  deference  to  the  lady." 

The  laugh  that  followed  only  deepened  the  flush 
on  Dean's  face. 

[54] 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

"I  guess  Carson's  right,"  Graham  commented, 
simply.  "That  letter  does  seem  to  cinch  the  matter. 
Rather  hogging  it  though,  isn't  it1?" 

"Well,  we  will  give  Mr.  Osberger  to  any  one  who 
wants  him,"  volunteered  Dean,  with  an  assumed 
magnanimity  which  elicited  no  reply  from  the  rest 
of  the  Board.  Oliver  grunted  aloud  and  muttered 
something  about  a  "keen  sense  of  humour." 

Those  "minor  changes"  which  Graham  had  un 
wittingly  left  to  the  discretion  of  his  fellow-commit- 
teemen  had  assumed  more  formidable  proportions 
than  he  had  thought  for.  "Come  on,  fellows,"  he 
remonstrated  at  last,  with  a  yawn  that  contagiously 
went  the  round  of  the  table,  "who  gives  a  hang  who 
gets  who  anyway,  so  long  as  the  Meet  is  a  success 
and  we  show  them  a  good  time." 

The  report  that  Dean  made  to  his  interested 
brethren  next  morning  in  the  Theta  Phi  smoking- 
room  as  to  his  "haul"  with  the  Board  of  Governors, 
was  greeted  with  noisy  enthusiasm.  Dean  did  not 
tell  them  of  the  humiliation  which  his  success  had 
cost  him. 

There  only  remained  the  meeting  of  the  Preps. 

"Be  sure  to  attach  anything  worth  while,  old  boy," 
one  of  the  Seniors  called  after  him  encouragingly 
from  the  steps,  as  he  started  down  the  Row  to  the 

[55] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

rousing  twang  of  "Ocean  of  Rum"  from  half  a  dozen 
mandolins. 

Dean's  figure,  as  it  swung  along  past  the  post- 
office,  had  all  the  alertness  that  a  consciousness  of  a 
well-groomed  appearance  gives.  The  air  of  the  fas 
tidious  city  man  was  unmistakably  stamped  upon 
him.  His  features  and  personality  showed  him  to  be 
well-born  and  cultivated,  but  an  over-consciousness 
of  this  was  so  evident  in  his  every  word  and  move 
that  he  seemed  out  of  place  in  the  democratic  atmo 
sphere  of  the  University. 

He  hailed  a  rig  at  the  book-store  corner  with  a 
feeling  of  sheepishness  that  he  could  not  shake  off, 
in  spite  of  his  still  tingling  shoulder-blades,  which 
should  have  reminded  him  of  Theta  Phi's  hearty 
appreciation.  The  thought  of  Carson's  disinterested 
ness  the  night  before  bothered  him  more  than  any 
thing. 

Already  the  avenue  was  busy  with  crowded  surries 
of  excited,  gesticulating  Preps,  declaiming  on  the 
beauties  of  the  Palm-drive  and  the  Arboretum,  half 
falling  out  of  the  back  seats  in  an  effort  to  catch  a 
passing  glimpse  of  the  Mausoleum,  and  offering 
fruitless  but  vociferous  bewailings  over  the  shattered 
Arch  and  "those  grand  mosaics." 

Interscholastic  is  one  of  the  gala  days  in  the  his- 

[56] 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

tory  of  the  University,  when  its  gates  are  opened  in 
hearty  hospitality  to  the  hundreds  of  Preparatory 
and  High  School  youths  who  struggle  for  field 
honours  on  its  oval.  To  the  college  man,  it  is  a  time 
of  "sizing  up"  prospective  material  for  the  future — 
material  that  his  University  will  be  proud  of. 

The  station  at  Paly  was  a  bedlam  of  excitement. 
Every  bus  and  vehicle  that  the  town  afforded  was 
drawn  up  in  readiness  for  the  constantly  arriving 
Preps. 

Graham,  the  centre  of  all  action,  swung  his  legs 
imperiously  from  his  seat  on  an  empty  baggage- 
truck  and  directed  operations.  A  dozen  or  more 
upper-class  officials  flaunted  themselves  before  the 
bewildered  Preps  pouring  off  each  incoming  train, 
grabbed  them  summarily  and  put  the  all-vital  ques 
tion,  "Are  you  an  Interscholastic'?" 

It  was  a  problem  to  deal  with  Eddie  Jones  from 
Greenville,  who  insisted  that  he  go  straight  to  the 
Delta  Phi  house  regardless,  and  spurned  with  con 
tempt  the  mere  suggestion  of  Theta  Phi.  It  was 
disconcerting  to  a  one-time  track  captain  and  the 
huskiest  man  in  college  to  be  ordered  by  a  newly 
arrived  kid  from  Cupertino  to  "take  those  dress-suit 
cases  to  No.  53  Lasuen  and  be  quick  about  it." 
Particularly  was  this  demoralizing  to  the  official's 

[57] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

nerves  when,  after  consultation  with  his  reception 
list,  he  found  that  No.  53  Lasuen  could  never  be  the 
ultimate  destination  of  the  imperious  guest.  Over 
on  the  circle,  the  benches  under  the  oaks  were  lined 
up  with  them  as  each  new  train  pulled  in,  those  re 
fractory  ones,  pending  the  decision  of  their  cases  by 
the  imperturbable  Graham,  while  his  coadjutors  tore 
their  hair  and  swore  alternately  at  their  chief  and 
the  Preps. 

A  soft  but  foreboding  drizzle  was  in  the  air.  The 
dull,  gray  sky  overhead  had  been  broken  the  day 
before  by  the  first  faint,  but  short-lived  glimmers  of 
sunlight  that  had  filtered  through  in  a  week,  during 
which  California  had  experienced  one  of  the  most 
terrific  storms  in  her  history.  Bridges  were  down  all 
over  the  country,  rails  were  washed  away  every  place 
along  the  road,  and  the  telegraph  service  was  de 
moralized.  The  Reception  Committee  swore  roundly 
and  computed  fruitless  estimates  as  to  just  when 
such  a  bunch  would  get  through. 

Harry  Dean  did  his  duty,  shoulder  to  shoulder 
with  his  fellow-committeemen,  but  with  an  attitude 
toward  each  newly  arriving  contingent  of  Preps 
which  said,  as  plainly  as  words,  "Glad  to  see  you. 
H'm,  merely  Interscholastic  material,  I  see!" 

When  the  Los  Angeles  special  pulled  in,  just  an 

[58] 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

hour  before  the  Meet  and  several  hours  behind 
scheduled  time,  it  was  evident  that  something  more 
than  simple  athletic  possibilities  lay  dormant  in  the 
sturdy  frames  of  the  trio  under  Mrs.  Logan's 
chaperonage. 

Dean  left  the  reception  of  the  common  herd  to 
the  good  graces  of  Graham  and  Carson,  as  he  stood 
on  tiptoe,  looking  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  that 
had  already  poured  off  the  train.  The  St.  John's 
contingent  was  no  place  to  be  seen,  but  down  on  a 
rear  platform  Dean  caught  sight  of  Mrs.  Logan.  He 
arrived  just  in  time  to  find  a  great,  angular-looking 
boy,  his  arms  laden  down  with  luggage,  clumsily  try 
ing  to  assist  her  from  the  train.  Dean  offered  some 
patronizing  commonplace  of  thanks  as  he  brusquely 
relieved  the  boy  of  her  bag.  How  such  a  specimen 
as  that  could  intrude  on  the  gallantries  of  life !  The 
washed-out,  freckled  face,  the  shock  of  thick,  colour 
less  hair,  and  the  suit  of  shop-made  clothes  had  all 
been  taken  in  with  an  amused  glance,  as  Dean  turned 
to  open  a  way  through  the  crowd  for  Mrs.  Logan. 

Oliver  and  Graham  had  rescued  the  three  St. 
John's  men  as  they  emerged  from  the  smoking-car  a 
few  moments  before,  and  Dean  came  upon  them  all 
grouped  in  front  of  the  ticket  window. 

"Hello,  Harry,  old  man,"  his  brother  called  out 

[59] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

cheerily.  "Here  we  are.  Began  to  think  we'd  never 
get  through,  though.  Sorry  we  deserted  you  so,  Mrs. 
Logan,"  the  boy  added,  "but  I  guess  Oz  was  equal 
to  the  occasion.  Harry,  I  want  you  to  meet  Peter 
Osberger — one  of  the  bunch — Oz,  my  brother." 

Dean  turned,  to  find  the  crude-looking  boy  whose 
courtesy  to  Mrs.  Logan  he  had  almost  resented, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

"Glad  to  know  you,  sir,"  the  youngster  said, 
simply. 

Dean  assumed  his  most  affable  air,  though  the 
friendliness  taken  for  granted  amused  him  highly. 
He  would  not  have  liked  to  admit  that  anything 
could  really  disarm  his  nonchalance,  but  the  frank 
enthusiasm  of  the  three  keenest  prospectives  who 
had  "come  up"  for  a  long  time,  over  this  gawky, 
country  product  certainly  left  him  rather  non 
plussed. 

"Who's  our  little  country  cousin"?"  he  quizzed  his 
brother  laughingly,  under  cover  of  the  conversation. 
"You  surely  don't  expect  me  to  introduce  'it'  up  at 
the  house — a  Reube  like  that!  "  Dean  Junior 
looked  up  quickly.  "You've  got  another  hunch 
coming,  Harry.  Wait  till  you  know  him,"  he  said, 
with  a  quiet  smile. 

Carson,  who  had  been  getting  a  bunch  started  off 

[60] 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

for  the  Campus,  sauntered  over  to  say  a  few  words 
to  Mrs.  Logan,  whom  he  had  known  in  the  South. 
Hoyt  was  introducing  him  to  Osberger  with  an  un 
mistakable  note  of  pride  in  his  voice.  The  older 
man's  hand-shake  was  its  heartiest  and  put  the  boy 
at  his  ease  at  once. 

A  sudden  solution  of  Osberger  and  this  impossible 
situation  broke  in  upon  Dean,  and  he  whistled 
softly. 

"Say,  Carson,"  he  exclaimed  a  moment  later,  in 
a  voice  that  was  audible  to  every  one  in  the  group. 
"We  had  several  extra  guests  blow  in  last  night  and 
we're  crowded  to  the  last  inch.  I  wonder  if  I  may 
turn  Mr.  Osberger  here  over  to  your  hospitality?" 

Shorty  Oliver,  glancing  up  quickly,  caught  the 
cornered  look  in  the  Alpha  Zet's  face,  and  grinned 
as  he  whistled  derisively  in  imitation  of  Dean. 

Graham  had  a  puzzled  expression.  "Why,  how's 
that,  Dean?"  he  questioned.  "I  thought- 
Carson  silenced  him  with  a  nudge  of  his  foot. 
The  suspicion  of  a  contemptuous  smile  flitted  across 
his  face  as  he  glanced  at  Dean.  Then  he  said 
evenly,  in  his  quiet,  convincing  way:  "We'll  be 
more  than  glad  to  have  you,  Osberger.  We  have 
plenty  of  room,  as  several  of  the  men  we  were 

[61] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

expecting  haven't  turned  up.  I  am  only  sorry  to 
separate  you  from  your  friends." 

The  faces  of  the  St.  John's  men  were  crestfallen 
with  disappointment.  Howard  Hoyt  looked  up  at 
Dean  with  annoyance.  But  he  brought  his  teeth 
together  with  a  resentful  little  click  and  said  noth 
ing.  Only  the  heartiness  of  Carson's  attitude  saved 
Osberger  from  bolting  then  and  there  from  a  place 
where  he  seemed  to  find  himself  an  awkward  in 
truder. 

It  was  Shorty  Oliver  who  relieved  the  strain  of 
the  situation.  "Got  to  get  up  there  and  punch  the 
keys  on  this  morning's  dope,"  he  volunteered, 
irrelevantly.  "Writing  a  sort  of  concise  history  of 
the  Interscholastic  idea,  you  see.  Lord!  Graham!" 
he  laughed  back  from  the  rear  seat  of  Uncle  John's 
surrey,  "I'll  bet  it  will  be  enough  to  make  the  type 
writer  stutter!" 

Up  at  training  quarters  outside  the  crisp,  new 
cinder  track,  the  newest  arrivals  were  being  made 
ready  for  the  contest  on  the  low  rubbing-tables  that 
range  the  length  of  the  room.  Red-"S"  'd  football 
men  and  sombreroed  Seniors  knelt  on  the  floor  beside 
them,  and  rubbed  and  thumped  and  belaboured 
them  as  though  they  were  the  very  brawn  and  bone 

[62] 


PREPDOM    ON  -PARADE 

of  the  Varsity  itself,  instead  of  the  chesty,  inconse 
quential  Preps  that  they  were. 

Groups  of  college  men  gathered  about  at  the  en 
trance  to  the  showers  and  in  front  of  the  welcome 
fireplace.  The  early  arrivals  during  the  last  two 
days  had  had  time  to  make  their  own  and  other 
people's  possibilities  known.  What  warming-up 
practice  on  the  track  had  not  made  evident,  their 
effervescent  volubility  provided  for.  And  it  was 
remarkable  how  much  speculative  interest  Stanford 
men  had  worked  up  over  the  Meet. 

There  was  a  noisy  bunch  just  beyond  the  tables 
where  Carson  and  a  couple  of  Alpha  Zetas  knelt, 
pommelling  the  life  out  of  the  train-weary  Southern 
Preps. 

"It's  a  draw  between  St.  John's  and  the  Madison- 
ites,"  a  confident  Junior  volunteered,  decisively. 
"What  do  you  say,  Dean,  you've  got  a  sample  of 
each4?" 

"Lying  low,  old  man,"  Dean  retorted,  laughingly. 
"You  know  where  I'd  bank,  of  course." 

"Say,  fellows,"  another  broke  in,  "you  just  watch 
that  little  kid  Osberger  from  Santa  Monero  do 
things.  He's  a  winner,  all  right." 

"Oh,  come  off — "  Dean  snorted  contemptuously. 
"What  farm  did  he  train  on?" 


NOT:  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

"Never  mind,  you'll  get  an  eye-opener,  all  right. 
The  kid  used  to  go  to  Prep  with  Hoyt  in  the  East, 
and  he  says  Osberger's  got  'em  all  skinned  in  the  100 
and  the  220.  He's  mighty  keen  at  a  few  other  num 
bers  on  the  programme,  too.  It's  a  shame  he's  the 
sole  product  of  his  school.  With  one  other  man  to 
back  him,  he'd  show  'em!" 

"Gee — he  doesn't  look  it,  I  must  say,"  was  Dean's 
parting  observation.  He  wheeled  suddenly  in  the 
direction  of  the  door  and  caught  the  eyes  of  Howard 
Hoyt  fixed  angrily  on  his.  Carson  and  the  man  be 
side  him  looked  up  with  a  frown  of  annoyance,  and 
Dean,  glancing  to  the  table  beyond,  was  not  deceived 
by  the  averted  face  of  Osberger  himself.  He  had 
heard,  of  course!  Well,  who — what  was  he,  any 
how4?  Merely  one  of  Howard  Hoyt's  proteges. 
How  the  deuce  that  young  king-pin  kept  his  hold 
over  the  school  down  there  so  that  every  mother's 
son  of  them  would  swear  by  anything  he  introduced, 
was  beyond  him. 

Outside,  the  drizzle  sifted  down  with  a  depressing 
steadiness  of  purpose.  A  generously  large  group  of 
men  and  women  had  braved  the  nastiness  of  the  day 
to  do  their  part  for  the  rising  generation  of  Stan- 
fordites.  Around  the  oval  the  tall  eucalyptus  of  the 
Arboretum  stood  out  gloomy  and  shivery  against 

[64] 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

the  low  outline  of  distant  foothills,  now  barely  dis 
tinguishable  through  the  haze.  Dripping  umbrellas 
dotted  the  bleachers,  alternately  aggravating  the 
patient  souls  who  sat  behind  them,  and  pouring 
teasing  little  rivulets  down  the  backs  of  those  in 
front.  The  air  was  tense  with  an  atmosphere  of 
studied  and  enforced  politeness,  relieved  now  and 
then  by  genuine  bursts  of  amusement  as  some  belated 
rooting  contingent  or  bevy  of  enthusiastic  Prep  girls 
stomped  the  length  of  the  bleachers  and  seated  them 
selves  ostentatiously  with  a  flutter  of  pennants  and  a 
lustily  given  yell. 

One  event  followed  another  in  quick  succession. 
Stuart  Logan  of  St.  John's  had  won  the  mile,  a  big, 
brawny  youth  from  Madison  had  carried  off  the  half, 
with  Osberger  a  first  in  the  100  and  the  broad. 
Somewhere  in  the  ranks  of  the  thirty-three  Prep 
teams  there  were  bound  to  be  developed  sensational 
"dark  horses."  Scattered  events,  that  the  strong 
teams  had  counted  as  their  own,  had  suddenly  been 
snatched  off  to  swell  the  score  of  some  insignificant 
high  school. 

Not  even  the  steady  sifting  down  of  drizzle  on 
the  dark  cinder  track,  or  the  shivering,  rain- 
bedraggled  procession  of  bath-robed  figures,  awaiting 
their  great  event  in  the  middle  oval,  could  dampen 

[65] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

the  excitement  that  grew  on  the  bleachers  as  an  un 
heard  of  country  youth  proceeded  to  carry  off  place 
after  place  in  the  big  events.  The  100  and  the  broad 
jump — that  was  enough  to  arouse  the  rooting  enthu 
siasm  of  the  unattached.  A  second  now  in  the  220 ! 
Osberger,  as  an  individual,  had  become  a  threaten 
ing  rival  to  Howard  Hoyt's  team,  while  the  Northern 
contingent,  prime  favourites  of  the  training-room, 
looked  to  their  laurels  nervously  and  began  to  wilt. 
On  the  steps  in  front  of  Quarters,  the  captain 
of  the  St.  John's  team  swung  his  legs  over  the  side 
of  the  platform  and  shivered  in  the  half -soaked  bath 
robe  he  wore.  Hoyt  had  finished  his  contribution 
to  the  now  hopelessly  lost  score  of  the  South.  He 
was  only  waiting  for  the  decision  of  the  high  jump 
to  know  whether  Ozie  still  stood  in  the  running.  He 
wanted  it  more  than  anything,  now  that  his  own 
team's  chances  had  gone  under.  He  could  picture 
the  trio,  his  bunch,  the  keenest,  classiest  little  bunch 
on  earth,  gathering  around  their  protege,  Ozie, 
carrying  him  about  the  rain-soaked  oval,  while  those 
cheering  Stanford  men  and  surprised,  open-mouthed 
prophets  of  Prepdom  gazed  on,  astonished,  from  the 
bleachers.  Some  one  behind  him  was  talking  to 
Duff,  the  Madison  team  captain.  The  drift  of  the 
conversation  floated  into  his  ears  half  unconsciously. 

[66] 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

"You've  got  to  fix  it,  Duff.  The  cup  hangs  on  it  for 
you,  old  man.  Get  Evans  to  block  him  on  the  farther 
turn.  You  can  spare  Evans  easy.  That  will  leave 
it  an  open  field  to  your  man  and  the  St.  John's  team. 
My  brother's  running,  you  know.  It's  got  to  be 
either  Bronson  or  Clar!" 

"Sure,"  retorted  Duff,  "it's  the  only  way,  or  the 
little  Swede  has  got  it  cinched." 

Hoyt  turned  his  head  suddenly,  and  again  his  eyes 
met  those  of  Harry  Dean  as  they  had  in  the  training- 
room.  He  was  conscious  of  a  glare  of  defiance  as 
he  caught  the  helpless  look  of  confusion  on  the  older 
man's  face.  There  was  something  about  them  at 
war.  He  had  felt  this  first  at  the  station  that  morn 
ing.  It  recurred  to  him  now,  stronger  and  with  more 
meaning,  as  Dean  sat  down  encouragingly  between 
Duff  and  himself. 

"I  say,  Hoyt,  I've  just  been  talking  with  the 
Madison  men  about  the  440." 

"I  overheard  you,"  Hoyt  observed,  tartly. 

Dean's  voice  was  pointedly  conciliatory,  as  he 
pushed  the  conversation.  "What  do  you  think 
Clar's  chances  are1?"  he  asked,  suavely.  "Of  course, 
St.  John's  all  up — but  I'd  like  to  see  the  kid  come  in, 
by  Jove!" 

[67] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Hoyt  looked  levelly  across  at  Dean.  "I'd  forget 
it  if  I  were  you,"  he  observed,  laconically. 

"Oh,  indeed,  sonny!"  was  all  that  the  stupefied 
Dean  could  find  utterance  for,  as  he  got  up  and 
walked  slowly  away  with  that  disconcerted  feeling 
strong  on  him  again — a  sort  of  moral  ostracism 
levied  against  him  by  the  frank  disapproval  of  a 
young  Prep  kid. 

Hoyt  sat  silent  for  a  moment  with  his  swinging 
feet  hung  limp,  as  if  in  sheer  amazement  at  the 
audacity  of  his  retort.  Over  on  the  track,  the  lithe 
figures  of  Dean  Junior  and  Stuart  Logan  swung 
around  the  turn  leisurely  as  they  warmed  up  for  the 
great  event. 

In  the  middle  of  the  oval,  Carson,  the  Alpha  Zeta, 
stood  with  a  group  of  newspaper  men  watching  the 
jumping.  Hoyt  walked  hurriedly  over  to  the  fence 
and  beckoned  to  him. 

"Say,  Carson,"  he  stammered  bluntly,  "I'm  going 
to  ask  a  favour  of  you.  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to 
take  Logan  and  Clar  Dean  and  me  in  for  tonight,  if 
you  can  fix  us  up.  We'll  sleep  any  old  place,  only 
let  us  come.  You  said  this  morning  that  you  had 
room,  or  I  wouldn't  ask." 

Carson  regarded  the  boy  in  blank  amazement. 

"Sure,  I  know  what  I'm  doing.    I'll  explain  it  all 

[68] 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

tomorrow,"  the  other  reassured  him  laughingly,  as 
he  ran  off  down  the  fence  to  meet  Logan  and  Dean 
on  the  home  lap  and  put  them  wise. 

"There's  nothing  to  do,"  Hoyt  explained,  as  he 
repeated  the  gist  of  Harry  Dean's  proposal,  "except 
to  beat  'em  at  their  own  game.  We  can't  let  Oz 
lose,  that's  all." 

"We  might  put  it  up  to  Graham  'or  Carson," 
Logan  suggested  as  a  solution,  "they're  square." 
But  the  look  on  Dean  Junior's  face  suddenly  re 
minded  him. 

"That's  so,"  he  blurted,  apologetically,  "we  can't 
show  it  up,  can  we1?  They  have  us  cinched  there!" 

"Look  here,"  insisted  Hoyt,  eagerly,  "we'll  fix  it 
so  that  the  Madison  man  won't  have  an  unfair 
handicap.  You  two  can  block  just  enough  to  give 
Oz  a  clean  fight  for  the  finish.  It's  hard  on  you, 
Clar,  old  boy,"  Hoyt  slipped  his  arm  affectionately 
over  Dean  Junior's  shoulder.  "You'd  a  good  fight 
ing  chance,  you  know." 

"What's  the  odds — now  the  Meet's  gone,"  the 
other  retorted.  "I  couldn't  see  Oz  lose  now.  He's 
got  an  awful  sourball  on  Stanford  already,  and 
besides,  you  see,  it's  up  to  me  to  make  good  to  him," 
he  finished,  bitterly. 

The  delight  with  which  Hoyt  heard  the  decision 


N0<?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

of  the  high  jump  was  destined  to  ebb  and  grow  faint 
as  the  men  in  the  440  came  on  their  marks,  disclosing 
Osberger,  tense  and  restrained,  but  with  "do  or  die" 
in  his  set  jaw,  in  fourth  position,  with  the  Madison 
man  at  the  pole. 

The  bleachers  were  on  their  feet.  Osberger,  the 
lonely  little  star  of  a  far-off  rural  high  school,  had 
stormed  the -prejudices  of  every  man  and  woman  of 
them. 

It  was  a  good  fight.  Osberger's  three  firsts  and  a 
second  had  netted  him  18,  with  the  Madison  team 
just  a  point  ahead  of  him,  the  St.  John's  men  lost 
beyond  retrieve,  and  a  very  sparse  sprinkling  of  odd 
events  among  the  thirty  or  more  other  schools  repre 
sented.  It  had  been  the  combined  efforts  of  a  team 
of  ten  against  the  single  fight  that  could  be  put  up 
by  one  determined,  only  half  credulously  received 
boy. 

Hoyt  forgot  St.  John's,  forgot  personal  defeat, 
everything,  as  the  pistol  shot  sounded  and  the  men 
were  off. 

Logan  had  started  forward  with  a  mad  sprint  that 
carried  him  six  feet  in  the  lead  of  Bronson  and  let 
him  fall  into  first.  The  Madison  men  were  dazed 
and  alarmed  at  such  tactics  from  Stuart  Logan — 
tactics  at  variance  with  all  sane  judgment  in  the  440. 

[70] 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

But  they  came  up  on  him  as  fast  as  they  could,  while 
Osberger,  biding  his  time  but  worried,  kept  up  an 
even  run  behind  them.  Dean  Junior  was  at  it  now, 
mad  and  furious,  throwing  all  his  strength  into  one 
sprint,  which  carried  him  around  the  two  Madison 
men.  He  had  signalled  Osberger,  as  he  passed  him, 
to  come  up.  The  Madison  men  were  plainly  dis 
heartened,  and  Osberger,  with  the  madness  of  "now 
or  never,"  closed  up  the  gap  between.  Hoyt  held 
his  breath.  It  was  a  losing  game,  with  Osberger 
crowded  to  the  outside  that  way. 

Suddenly,  Logan,  who  had  tenaciously  held  his 
own  on  the  inside,  slowed  down  almost  impercepti 
bly,  and  Bronson,  on  whom  Madison  had  banked  its 
hopes,  was  forced  to  drop  back  to  avoid  fouling.  So 
completely  was  he  thrown  out  of  his  stride  that  he 
almost  came  to  a  standstill.  As  a  factor  in  the  440 
his  usefulness  was  over. 

Another  sprint  carried  Dean  to  the  inside  just 
ahead  of  Logan.  They  were  running  along  now 
steadily,  leading  Bronson.  Ozie  and  the  other 
Madison-ites  had  an  open  field.  Down  the  home 
stretch  they  swung.  Hoyt  closed  his  eyes  fearfully. 
He  could  not  have  seen  at  that  distance  that  Osberger 
broke  the  tape  just  a  chest  in  front  of  the  other  man. 

[71] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

But  the  din  of  the  bleachers  told  him  what  he  wanted 
to  know.  He  was  down  the  steps  in  an  instant. 

The  identity  of  insignificant,  rural  Santa  Monero 
had  swallowed  up  for  the  moment  all  the  prestige 
and  Southerly  pride  with  which  St.  John's  was  wont 
to  carry  itself.  Foremost  among  the  madly  enthu 
siastic,  Dean  and  Stuart  Logan,  with  Hoyt's  be 
draggled,  bath-robed  figure  clinging  like  mad  to  the 
outskirts,  yelling  vociferously,  without  purpose  or 
sanity,  lifted  Peter  Osberger  high  on  their  shoulders 
and  carried  him  to  the  training  quarters. 

A  crowd  of  officials  and  upper-classmen  were 
there  to  help  the  Preps  dress.  There  was  little  over 
an  hour  for  dinner  if  the  Encina  high  jinks  and  the 
presentation  came  off  on  time.  Excitement  and  the 
volubility  of  the  aftermath  made  the  room  buzz. 
Osberger  was  in  a  state  of  heavenly  elation  which 
recognized  neither  sound  nor  feeling.  He  tried  to 
prove  appreciative  of  the  countless  attentions  levelled 
at  him,  but  his  powers  were  utterly  inadequate. 

"Where's  Carson?  Let's  find  him  and  get  out  of 
this!"  he  urged,  as  Hoyt  and  he  found  their  exit 
from  the  dressing-room  blocked  half  way  across  the 
hall.  "I  want  to  understand  just  what  happened,  old 
man.  Let's  get  where  we  can  talk." 

Hoyt  smiled  with  the  condescension  of  absolute 

[72] 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

satisfaction.  "We  are  all  booked  for  the  Alpha  Zet 
house  tonight,  Oz, — Clar,  Logan,  and  I,  too,"  he 
commented  simply. 

The  rest  of  the  bunch  was  herded  together,  at 
tached  triumphantly  by  a  couple  of  Carson's  fra 
ternity  brothers  at  hand,  and  headed  off  for  the  Row. 

Carson  decently  gave  them  the  smoking-room  after 
dinner,  on  Hoyt's  intimation  that  there  was  some 
thing  doing.  The  door  closed  on  a  torrent  of  in 
dignation,  of  declamation,  and  glorification  let  loose. 
Osberger  found  himself  the  dazed  centre  of  it  all, 
and  tried  to  deduct  something  comprehensible  from 
the  half-intelligible  exclamations  around  him. 

"I  knew  it  this  morning  when  they  were  so  mean 
about  putting  Oz  up — the  muckers!"  Hoyt  com 
mented,  hotly. 

"Well,  anyhow,  they  didn't  have  to  butt  in  to 
help  Bronson's  dirty  little  game.  We  fooled  'em  at 
it,  though.  Gol  darn  'em !  "  Logan  puffed  at  his 
cigarette  with  vicious  satisfaction.  "Sorry  for  you, 
Clar,  old  man,  but  it's  up  to  us!" 

"Don't  mind  me,  fellows.  Theta  Phi  isn't  pre 
scribed  wholesale,  you  know.  I'm  not  rooting  their 
tactics." 

Bit  by  bit  Osberger  gathered  that  he,  the  despised 
of  a  great  unknown  Prepdom,  had  been  nefariously, 

[73] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

ignominiously  dealt  with,  and  that  the  vengeance  of 
these,  his  champions,  was  now  sworn  to,  wrathfully 
and  deliberately,  in  his  presence. 

Over  in  the  Hall,  the  speech  of  his  life  was  before 
him  in  front  of  that  critical  crowd  of  college  men. 

"Hand  it  out  to  them,  Oz,  you  know  the  dope! 
Just  think  of  us  and  forget  the  mob,"  Hoyt  admon 
ished  hopefully  a  half  hour  later,  as  Osberger,  a 
great  pride  in  his  heart,  but  consumed  with  a  panicky 
fear,  elbowed  his  way  nervously  across  the  long 
Encina  reading-room  to  the  big  table  from  which 
Graham  had  made  his  presentation  speech. 

Just  in  front  of  him,  Osberger  caught  the  friendly 
faces  of  a  bunch  of  the  Alpha  Zeta  men.  The  din 
of  applause  for  this  "kid  o'  wonders,"  as  Graham 
himself  had  christened  him,  echoed  deafeningly 
through  the  Hall.  Far  back  near  the  fireplace, 
underneath  the  big  Stanford  pennant  and  the  historic 
cowbell,  the  eyes  of  Hoyt,  of  Dean,  and  of  Logan 
smiled  back  at  him  confidently.  A  new  sense  of 
dignity  and  self-possession  threw  a  dominating  note 
into  his  voice,  as  words  of  appreciation  came  to  him. 
He  was  conscious  of  having  carried  the  occasion 
well.  "Sky-rockets"  and  hoarse  shouts  of  approval 
rang  through  the  room.  Again  he  was  lifted  high 

[74] 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

on  the  shoulders  of  the  bunch  and  carried  forth  in 
triumph. 

"Where  the  deuce  are  you  fellows  going*?"  Harry 
Dean  was  demanding  of  the  imperturbable  Clar. 
"We  want  you  all  over  at  the  House  for  the  smoker, 
you  know,  as  soon  as  the  rest  of  the  dope  is  dealt  out 
here.  And  say,  kid,  bring  young  Osberger  along,  if 
you  like." 

His  brother  did  not  stop  long  enough  to  reply. 
"We're  going  back  now  to  say  'how'  to  Mrs.  Logan 
for  a  minute,  but  we  won't  be  with  you  tonight, 
Harry,"  he  called  over  his  shoulder. 

Up  in  Carson's  room  at  the  Alpha  Zeta  house 
Osberger  and  the  trio  held  jovial  revelry  among  the 
relics  of  bygone  Stanford  men,  and  listened  to  Alpha 
Zet's  oldest  inhabitant  tell  of  the  grand,  old  pioneer 
days — days  when  even  Interscholastics  had  never 
been  heard  of. 

Graham  and  Oliver  with  a  noisy  bunch  of  Hall 
men  had  blown  in  after  the  high  jinks,  and  lay 
sprawled  about  on  the  floor  cushions  or  sat  with 
their  feet  perched  comfortably  on  Carson's  study 
table,  while  Osberger,  his  washed-out  face  flushed 
with  excitement,  knew  that  he  had  at  last  come  into 
his  own.  He  was  being  drawn  out  to  talk  of  himself, 
of  Hoyt's  and  his  own  earlier  Prep  days  in  the  East 

[75] 


N0<f  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

— even  of  Santa  Monero  and  the  fellows  down  there. 
He  found  himself  telling  them  with  his  old  feeling 
of  enthusiasm  how  eagerly  he  was  waiting  for  next 
fall,  when  he  and  the  Hoyts  and  Dean  were  to  come 
up  as  Freshmen  together. 

And  Graham  and  Carson,  yarning  on  anew,  with 
Shorty's  irrepressible  comments  enlivening  all,  re 
galed  the  fascinated  Preps  with  all  those  incidents 
and  struggles  that  make  the  Stanford  spirit  a  thing 
to  conjure  with. 

Stowed  away  for  the  night,  the  occupants  of  two 
cots  and  a  floor  bunk  in  Carson's  room  held  counsel 
together  until  long  after  the  first  contingents  from 
dispersed  "busts"  began  to  make  the  Campus  air 
resound  with  their  homeward  ballads. 

"Fellows,  there's  no  place  like  it."  Osberger's 
tone  had  caught  the  ring  of  the  older  men's  voices. 
"And  this  morning — I  was  almost  a  quitter,"  he 
added,  slowly,  "think  of  it — just  because " 

"Because  of  a  few  muckers,"  Dean  Junior 
finished  with  set  lips. 

Hoyt  leaned  over  to  Logan  on  the  floor  bunk  be 
side  him.  "Gee,  kid,  but  I'm  glad  he  didn't  get  on 
to  the  blocking  game,"  he  whispered,  under  his 
breath.  Aloud  he  said:  "And,  Oz,  I  bet  they're 
counting  us  Theta  Phi  cinches.  But  we'll  hang 

[76] 


PREPDOM    ON   PARADE 

together  tight,  old  man,  next  fall,  and  it  won't  be 
that!" 

"Graham  and  Carson  won't  be  here  then,  will 
they*?"  Dean  spoke  ruefully,  and  there  was  silence 
in  the  room  for  a  moment. 

"No,"  repeated  Osberger,  slowly,  "they  won't  be 
here,  but  the  farm's  full  of  more  like  them."  There 
was  a  note  of  stout  conviction  in  his  voice,  for  he 
was  recalling  the  Encina  reception  and  the  hearty 
hand-clasps  of  a  hundred  enthusiastic  men. 

"You  bet  it  is,"  came  in  unison  from  the  other 
three. 

"There's  no  place  like  it,"  Hoyt  reiterated,  softly. 
Whereupon,  having  delivered  himself  summarily  of 
the  consensus  of  the  combine,  the  strains  of  "One 
Day  a  Freshman"  floated  in  unheeded  upon  a  silent 
room,  wherein  the  brawn  of  the  rising  generation 
had  laid  itself  down  at  peace  with  a  red-hued  world. 


[  77  1 


.Arrogance  of 

Secon6 


THE  ARROGANCE   OF  THE   SECOND 
YEAR 

In  a  heated  discussion  on  evolution,  Peter 
had  once  made  the  remark  that  there  was  at 
least  one  example  which  she  could  cite  of  life 
beginning  with  equal  possibilities,  and  that  was 
in  the  way  of  furniture  in  a  room  at  Roble. 
Kate  Monroe,  as  she  deposited  her  sketching  kit  be 
tween  the  couch  and  burlaped  wardrobe,  and  took 
in  anew  the  transformation  effected  by  her  room 
mate,  went  a  step  farther  and  reflected  wearily  that 
the  results  of  the  ingenuity  of  a  hundred  or  more 
girls  held  a  marked  sameness  and  mediocrity.  She 
turned  to  the  window,  and  stared  dreamily  across 
the  brown  fields  to  the  hazy  blue  silhouette  of  the 
ridge  with  its  top  line  of  redwoods  notching  the  sun 
set  sky. 

In  a  room  across  the  angle  of  the  building,  Peter, 
perched  on  a  study  table,  gossiping  with  Lucile 
Hunter,  looked  over  at  the  girl  in  the  window.  "I 
can't  understand  that  roommate  of  yours,  Lucile. 
Just  look  at  her — I  can't  say  that  I  approve  of 
dreaming."  As  an  afterthought,  Peter  added:  "Do 

[81] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

you  suppose  she's  in  love*?"  She  turned  inquiringly 
to  the  other  girl. 

"Don't  ask  me."  Lucile,  half-sunk  in  the  cushions 
on  the  couch,  looked  the  picture  of  contentment. 

"You've  a  new  pennant  on  the  wall1?"  Peter  re 
marked,  her  eyes  still  on  the  room  across  the  way. 

"Will  sent  it  to  me  from  Yale — isn't  it  a  dandy ^ 
I  had  to  move  Kate's  Burne-Jones  over  a  bit  to  make 
room  for  it.  She  won't  like  that  very  well — but 
she'll  never  say  anything." 

"Doesn't  she  appreciate  the  aesthetics  of  a  pen 
nant?' 

Lucile  put  another  cushion  back  of  her  head  before 
replying.  "She  doesn't  approve  of  truck  on  the  walls 
— snaps,  mementoes,  and  all  that's  college.  Don't 
you  think  it  makes  you  remember  your  good  times? 
I  know  she  abhors  my  prized  basket-ball  with  the 
red  ribbons — I  carried  that  to  a  slogan.  You  should 
have  seen  that  rally.  They've  never  had  another  in 
Roble  like  it." 

Peter  was  studying  Kate's  face  with  interest. 
"Looks  kind  of  depressed,  doesn't  she1?" 

"I've  roomed  with  that  girl  ever  since  our  Fresh 
man  year,  and  don't  know  her  any  better  than  you 
do,  Peter." 

[82] 


ARROGANCE  OF  3HE  SECOND  TEAR 

"I  call  her  Miss  Monroe,"  Peter  replied,  with  a 
laugh. 

"That's  just  it,  everybody  does,"  the  other  an 
swered,  with  some  show  of  animation.  It  seemed 
to  be  a  favourite  topic  with  Lucile  when  once  started, 
for  she  continued:  "I  don't  know  what  there  is 
about  that  girl,  but  I  admire  her  like  everything. 
She  never  mixes  in  with  us,  or  does  anything — 
doesn't  even  tell  how  crazy  she  is  over  drawing.  I've 
talked  to  her  about  athletics " 

"Trust  you  for  that,"  Peter  interrupted. 

The  other's  voice  was  serious  and  half -complain 
ing.  "We  need  new  material,  and  she's  tall  and 
likes  exercise.  She's  too  dandy,  anyway,  to  get  her 
sheepskin  unknown — but  what  are  you  going  to  do 
when  a  person's  so  reserved  that  she  doesn't  even 
tell  you  the  name  of  her  kid  brother4?" 

"She  startled  the  community  the  other  night, 
though." 

"How's  that?"  Lucile  looked  at  Peter's  mis 
chievous  face  suspiciously. 

"Didn't  you  see  her  at  the  reception,  and  she 
helped  decorate,  too*?" 

"You  don't  mean  to  say!  Kate  Monroe!  I 
don't  believe  it." 

"We'll  change  the  subject,   then,  until  Frances 

[83] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

comes  home.     Are  the  solemn  six  going  to  let  us 
have    the    dance    within    a    month'?      I    abominate 

dances,  but  that's  no  matter " 

Kate  Monroe,  in  the  room  across  the  way,  un 
conscious  of  being  watched  or  discussed,  made  no 
attempt  to  cover  her  mood.  She  had  received  a 
mind-awakening  jolt  that  afternoon,  and  it  was  hard 
to  readjust  herself.  The  art  class,  under  Mr.  Nor 
ton,  had  scattered  over  the  oak-dotted  field  that  lies 
toward  the  Campus  below  Lagunita.  They  were 
drawing  the  trees  where  a  path  slipped  down  the 
hill  and  lost  itself  among  them.  Kate  had  always 
loved  that  bit  of  landscape,  even  as  much  as  the 
evening  shadows  on  the  lake.  She  had  the  childish 
feeling  that  if  she  were  to  walk  down  the  path  to 
the  end  she  would  be  in  a  land  of  mystic  unreality 
and  strange  dreaminess.  So  she  had  stooped  over 
her  board,  crayon  in  hand,  full  of  a  craving  for  ex 
pression.  She  had  been  working  two  hours,  when 
Mr.  Norton  startled  her.  His  every  word  was  dis 
tinct  in  her  mind.  "Miss  Monroe,  you  are  not  get 
ting  any  feeling  into  that  drawing.  Your  lines  are 
too  hard  and  detached.  Go  over  and  look  at  Miss 
Hunter's — you  will  understand  then  what  I  mean." 
Tearing  up  the  sheet,  she  had  begun  again  with  tears 
in  her  eyes.  How  was  it  that  Lucile  Hunter,  so 

[84] 


<THE  ARROGANCE  OF  ?HE  SECOND  TEAR 

commonplace  in  sentiment,  so  devoid  of  taste  as  to 
place  a  Gibson  girl  beside  a  Rossetti,  and  who  toler 
ated  the  gaudiness  of  stamped  cushions,  could  make 
one  feel  the  allurement  of  that  small  path  meander 
ing  among  the  trees'? 

Kate  Monroe  had  come  to  college  as  a  concession 
to  the  traditions  of  her  family.  If  she  had  followed 
her  own  inclinations,  she  would  have  gone  to  Hop 
kins  Institute  in  the  city,  and  later  to  Paris.  In 
stead,  she  made  a  compromise  between  an  A.  B.  and 
art,  and  came  to  Stanford. 

Like  all  Freshmen  she  had  carefully  read  the 
residence  section  of  the  Register,  with  the  result  that 
she  found  herself,  after  due  formalities,  unpacking 
her  belongings  in  Room  24,  Roble,  with  her  room 
mate  performing  a  like  operation  near  the  opposite 
wall.  Lucile  was  voluble  and  enthusiastic,  and 
called  her  by  her  first  name  without  apology. 

"Did  you  bring  much  stuff  for  the  room'?"  she 
asked,  looking  at  the  nervous,  slender  hand  of  the 
other  girl  as  she  rested  a  picture  on  the  radiator. 

"Some  curtains,  a  few  cushions,  and  some 
favourite  pictures,"  the  other  answered,  slowly. 

"That's  good.    I've  enough  for  the  room." 

Kate  had  glanced  at  the  table  piled  high  with 
nondescript  articles,  whose  chief  boast  seemed 

[85] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

gaudiness  of  color,  and  felt  consciously  depressed. 
Later  her  Monna  Lisa,  carefully  hung  for  the  light, 
had,  for  the  sake  of  community  interest,  been 
pushed  aside  for  a  souvenir  poster.  Although 
Lucile  Hunter  told  her  that  she  was  an  art 
major  and  hoped  to  continue  the  work  beyond  col 
lege,  Kate  had  carefully  avoided  all  mention  of  the 
subject  in  the  three  years  of  their  acquaintance. 
She  had  deemed  it  sacrilege  to  do  so,  and  as  a  result 
covered  her  devouring  ambition  with  a  hard  shell 
of  reserve,  and  only  unburdened  her  mind  by  long 
tramps  over  the  hills  and  along  the  creek  beds. 

Kate  had  looked  to  college  as  a  mecca  of  erudi 
tion,  of  grave  faces,  and  hushed  voices,  with  prob 
ably  a  few  exceptions,  who  would  be  frowned  into 
silence  or  off  the  Campus  by  public  opinion.  The 
truth  came  as  a  severe  shock — the  irresponsibility 
of  the  undergraduate,  the  laughter,  the  small  talk, 
the  wasting  of  time,  and  the  almost  conspicuous 
avoidance  of  the  serious.  With  her  analytical  mind, 
she  drew  apart  and  studied  the  girls  in  the  Hall, 
resorting  to  scientific  instead  of  human  methods, 
and  her  deductions  were  pessimistic.  They  were 
confirmed  as  she  watched  the  girls,  listened  to  the 
laughter  and  jollying  of  the  dinner  hour,  and  en 
dured  the  slangy  conversations  that  took  place  in  the 

[86] 


THE  ARROGANCE  OF  fHE  SECOND  TEAR 

Hall  afterwards.  It  seemed  as  if  years  separated 
her  from  them;  that  she  was  the  sole  exception  in 
this  medley  of  the  care-free,  the  childish,  and  the 
thoughtless.  Yet  she  felt  no  self-pity  because  of 
her  isolation.  They  were  so  pathetically  oblivious 
of  the  burden  of  the  future. 

While  in  this  state  of  mind,  Kate  had  been  asked 
to  a  "feed"  given  by  some  of  the  Seniors  on  the 
fourth  floor.  She  was  considerably  astonished  to 
discover  the  intimacy  which  existed  between  Lucile 
and  the  girls.  She  herself  barely  knew  them.  Kate 
had  always  been  with  older  people,  and  the  famil 
iarity  of  the  blunt,  personal  twits  of  the  girls 
seemed  unendurably  rude  to  her,  and  their  talk  was 
bewildering,  as  it  became  now  trivial  and  then 
again  ludicrously  serious  when  it  turned  to  Hall  or 
undergraduate  affairs. 

After  that,  her  pity  turned  to  scorn.  She  as 
sumed  a  bearing  of  courteous  and  reserved  aloofness, 
for  had  not  the  girls,  from  Seniors  down,  proved 
themselves  utterly  shallow  and  unworthy  of  a  culti 
vated  acquaintance'?  From  that  time,  Kate  spent 
her  entire  days  studying  or  sketching  and  her  even 
ings  delving  in  all  manner  of  books  in  the  Library. 
Her  week-ends  were  given  over  to  lonely  walks. 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

There  was  not  a  nook  in  the  hills  for  miles  with 
which  she  was  not  familiar. 

The  girl  turned  restlessly  from  the  window  and 
picked  up  the  first  book  that  came  to  her  hand,  a 
volume  of  Browning,  hoping  thus  to  thrust  away 
the  depressing  thoughts  that  crowded  her  brain. 
She  glanced  down  the  pages  casually,  read  a  section 
of  "Saul,"  hastily  covered  up  "Andrea  Del  Sarto," 
and  finally  caught  some  lines  that  made  her  hesi 
tate,  lay  down  the  book,  and  gaze  out  of  the  window 
again. 

"Landscape  and  sea-piece,  down  to  flowers  and  fruit 

And  who  shall  question  that  she  knows  them  all 

In  better  semblance  than  the  things  outside? 

Yet  bring  into  the  silent  gallery 

Some  live  thing  to  contrast  in  breath  and  blood, 

Some  lion,  with  the  painted  lion  there — 

You  think  she'll  understand  composedly?" 

Kate  repeated  the  last  words  inquiringly,  "You 
think  she'll  understand  composedly?"  Yes,  she  had 
been  slowly  understanding  for  three  months.  She 
could  plainly  interpret  herself  now.  At  first,  when 
she  found  that  her  judgments  of  the  life  around  her 
did  not  seem  as  solid  as  formerly,  and  that  even  her 
opinions  were  distinctly  irresolute  at  times,  she  laid 
it  to  her  wearying  of  her  life  of  isolation,  and  to  a 

[88] 


THE  ARROGANCE  OF  THE  SECOND  TEAR 

weak  desire  for  companionship.  She  wondered 
hazily  if  it  might  not  have  been  the  effect  of  two 
and  a  half  years  of  college  atmosphere.  At  one 
time  she  had  considered  herself  above  environment, 
but  perhaps  she  was  more  like  the  people  around 
her  than  she  thought.  Kate  was  astonished  to  find 
herself  almost  relishing  the  idea  of  being  one  among 
many. 

Browning  had  expressed  it,  "Some  live  thing  to 
contrast — some  lion  with  the  painted  lion  there." 
Kate  felt  almost  grateful  that  her  eyes  had  been 
opening  to  the  contrast  of  late — she  was  wearied  of 
gazing  only  at  the  painting  with  all  its  crudities. 
Finally,  she  had  heard  the  beat  of  the  human  heart. 
Now  she  was  searching  for  the  path  again,  having 
erred  as  well  as  the  others.  She  had  found  the 
direction  to  it  in  the  last  few  months.  The  expres 
sion  in  her  eyes  changed  at  the  thought. 

Kate  loved  to  trace  cause  and  effect.  One  incident 
was  the  most  distinct  in  her  mind,  for  it  had  marked 
the  turning  point  in  her  attitude.  It  happened 
when  Lucile  Hunter  received  sad  news.  Kate  had 
stood  by  helpless,  while  the  same  girls  whom  she 
looked  upon  as  shallow,  had  shown  a  depth  of  sym 
pathy,  friendship,  and  even  of  thought,  that  made 
her  feel  as  gray  and  cold  as  a  stone  pinnacle. 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Then  there  was  Elsie  Gunn,  and  a  dozen  others 
of  whom  she  could  think,  who  seemed  so  care-free, 
and  yet  whose  burdens  made  her  feel  self-centered, 
egotistical.  Elsie  was  going  through  college  in 
three  years.  How  taken  aback  she  had  been  on  first 
learning  of  the  struggles  which  were  glossed  over 
with  the  reserve  of  happy-go-lucky  fellowship! 

She  smiled  weakly,  as  she  thought  of  her  first  at 
tempt  at  friendliness  with  the  girls.  She  had  felt 
so  timid  and  ill-at-ease  when  she  joined  a  group  by 
the  fireplace  one  evening,  and  caught  Margaret 
Sears' s  glance  of  scrutiny.  Margaret  had  saved  the 
day  for  her,  and  she  felt  that  she  had  made  a  begin 
ning.  She  wondered  now  why  she  had  never  before 
noticed  Margaret,  especially  her  terseness  and 
originality.  She  would  like  to  call  her  "Peter,"  as 
the  others  did. 

And  the  Roble  reception — she  drew  a  deep  breath. 
The  fun  of  driving  after  greens,  perched  with  Peter 
on  the  end  of  a  delivery  wagon!  She  and  Edna 
Blythe  had  almost  toppled  off  the  seat  in  reaching 
for  pepper-branches  by  the  creek  in  Palo  Alto.  She 
had  really  felt  exuberantly  youthful. 

She  smiled  again  as  she  remembered  her  first  col 
lege  reception  that  same  day — she  had  made  so 

[90] 


<?HE  ARROGANCE  OF  ^HE  SECOND  TEAR 

many  stupid  blunders;  and  how  assiduously  she  had 
read  the  "Daily"  since! 

"This  is  your  first  year  here?"  asked  a  man  who 
faithfully  attended  all  receptions. 

"I  am  a  Senior." 

"Oh!"     An  embarrassing  silence  followed. 

"I  see  that  your  basket-ball  team  is  going  to  play 
Berkeley  next  week.  Do  you  expect  to  win?"  asked 
another. 

She  made  some  feeble  reply,  and  he  continued: 
"A  husky  squad  has  turned  out  for  football  practice 
this  year.  Did  you  ever  see  any  one  punt  like  Jack 
Woods?" 

She  evaded  the  question  with,  "You  seem  much 
interested  in  football." 

The  man  looked  at  her  questioningly,  and  Peter 
informed  her  a  moment  later  that  he  had  saved  the 
intercollegiate  score  of  the  previous  year. 

Kate's  face  saddened  again,  as  she  came  back  to 
the  present.  After  all,  she  had  made  a  very  small 
beginning.  In  four  months  she  would  graduate, 
and  what  could  she  look  back  to?  Buildings,  hills, 
some  good  work,  failure  in  her  ambition,  and  not  one 
friend  who  would  regret  her,  not  one  cordial  hand- 
grasp  in  the  years  to  come.  She  gazed  solemnly  at 

[91] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

the  dusk  that  was  creeping  over  the  country,  and 
was  only  startled  to  reality  by  Peter's  entrance. 

"I  have  just  a  minute,  Miss  Monroe,  as  I  am  due 
at  the  nominating  committee  for  Roble  officers." 

"Won't  you  sit  down*?"  Kate  interposed. 

"No,  thank  you."  Peter  always  found  it  easier 
to  speak  when  standing.  "I  have  to  be  abrupt.  A 
number  of  us  have  realized  what  a  dandy  girl  you 
are,  and  we  want  you  to  consent  to  run  for  the 
Presidency  of  the  Roble  Club.  I  can  nominate  you, 
and  we  are  pretty  sure  of  having  you  win — there 
are  so  many  in  favour  of  you." 

Kate  gasped.  The  proposition  had  come  like  the 
surprise  of  a  dash  of  cold  water.  "Why,  no  one 
knows  me  in  the  Hall.  I  wouldn't  know  what  to 
do — and — and,  Miss  Sears,  there  are  so  many 
popular  and  prominent  girls.  There's — there's 
Lucile  Hunter,  for  one,  and  Miss  Jones,  and  Miss 
Calkins." 

Peter  shook  her  head  emphatically.  "We  want 
you,  Kate  Monroe.  You  think  we  don't  know  you, 
but  we've  wanted  to  for  a  long  time,  and  you 
wouldn't  let  us.  I  tell  you,  we  were  delighted  with 
your  interest  in  the  reception  the  other  night." 

Kate  flushed,  both  embarrassed  and  pleased.  She 
knew  that  this  was  one  of  the  big  honours  conferred 

[92] 


THE  ARROGANCE  OF  THE  SECOND  TEAR 

by  the  Hall,  and  was  a  chance  not  to  be  scoffed  at. 
It  would  give  her  the  opportunity,  in  all  probability, 
of  "making  good"  for  her  three  wasted  years.  She 
was  surprised  at  her  boldness  in  thinking  of  accept 
ing  it. 

"It  isn't  forward,  is  it4?"  she  asked  herself,  "when 
they  consider  me  worthy  of  the  place  and  want  me 
to  run."  She  added,  aloud,  "And  I  never  imagined 
that  the  girls  cared  for  me !  " 

"Then  you'll  run?"  expectantly. 

"Yes,"  hesitatingly. 

Peter  made  a  gleeful  bound  for  the  door.  "I'm 
so  glad,  Kate." 

Kate  felt  distinctly  pleased  that  Peter  should 
have  used  her  first  name. 

Twenty  minutes  later,  Peter  chuckled  to  herself 
as  she  dashed  downstairs  and  put  up  the  list  of 
nominations  on  the  bulletin-board  outside  the  dining- 
room.  Then  she  stood  back,  her  head  on  one  side, 
and  looked  at  it  approvingly.  "For  President: 
Kate  Monroe,  Helen  Calkins."  Peter  chuckled 
again. 

"See  here,  Peter,"  a  remonstrating  hand  was  laid 
on  her  shoulder.  Peter  was  sure  that  there  was  an 
inclination  to  shake  her,  and  she  turned  around  with 
an  inquiring  look. 

[93] 


NOT:  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

'Well?" 

Frances  Jones  was  the  only  one  of  the  "solemn 
six"  who  did  not  usually  live  up  to  the  adjective 
assigned  by  Peter  to  the  ruling  clique.  But  she  was 
now  the  impersonation  of  the  "six"  as  she  looked  at 
Peter  with  firmly  drawn  lips. 

"Well?"  Peter  asked  again. 

"Now  don't  play  Miss  Innocence  with  me,  Mar 
garet  Sears.  It's  not  the  first  time  that  we  have 
come  up  against  your  practical  jokes  or  those  of 
your  classmates  of  the  fourth  floor."  Frances's  voice 
was  distinctly  irritated. 

"Well?"  Peter  repeated,  calmly. 

"Don't  you  know  that  two  Presidents  haven't 
been  nominated  for  years — it's  against  all  tradition. 
The  Hall  always  has — and  I  think  it  can  still — 
abide  by  the  choice  that  we  make  without  the  inter 
ference  of  underclassmen." 

"Do  you  mean  the  choice  of  the  ruling  six?" 
Peter's  expression  was  all  innocence. 

The  other  continued  hurriedly.  "We  don't  want 
politics  dividing  the  Hall — it  causes  too  much  feel 
ing.  Just  look  at  Encina.  And  what  we  want  to 
stand  for  here  is  good  spirit  and  peace." 

"We  prefer  to  rusticate,  I  understand." 

[94] 


'THE  ARROGANCE  OF  ?HE  SECOND  TEAR 

"Roble  should  be — a  haven  from  the  turmoil  of 
the  Quad."  Frances  became  pedantic. 

"And  we're  the  'ships  that  pass  to  the  haven 
under  the  hill?  '  Don't  worry  on  that  score,  Frances. 
Our  care-free  atmosphere  is  proverbial  on  the  Row. 
Elizabeth  Warner  says  it  drives  her  wild  to  come 
here  and  find  the  girls  playing  around  or  reading 
magazines.  On  the  Row  it's  either  studying  or 
queening  or  company  to  dinner.  If  we  got  a  jolt 
once  in  a  while  we  would  appreciate  the  simple  life 
a  little  better,  perhaps." 

Frances  changed  her  tack.  "Peter,  it  was  mighty 
unkind  of  you  to  nominate  that  inconspicuous  girl. 
Why,  Helen  Calkins  will  defeat  her  terribly — and 
it  will  only  hurt  the  girl's  feelings.  It's  really  cruel, 
Peter,  for  I  imagine  that  Kate  Monroe  is  very  sen 
sitive." 

Peter  did  not  flinch  under  this  unexpected  turn, 
as  Frances  had  hoped,  and  her  voice  was  grave  when 
she  replied:  "I'm  not  a  believer  in  precedent,  and 
I'm  an  out  and  out  socialist.  I  believe  in  equal 
division  of  power — not  in  a  Senior  aristocracy,  with 
the  rest  of  us  under  its  thumbs.  Now  you  have  it, 
Frances,  that's  my  creed.  I  was  relieving  the  popu 
lace  of  a  slate  and  giving  them  a  choice."  She 
pointed  at  the  list  of  nominations. 

[95] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

There  was  a  puzzled  expression  on  Frances's  face. 
"You're  one  big  bluff,  Peter."  In  spite  of  herself, 
she  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  assumed,  injured 
droop  of  Peter's  mouth. 

"Peter,  I'm  waiting,"  an  exasperated  voice  rang 
down  three  flights  of  stairs. 

Peter  moved  over  to  the  bannister  and  looked  up. 
"Coming,  Edna." 

"Another  one  of  the  same  stamp,  Peter,"  Frances 
remarked  ironically. 

"Oh,  we're  getting  ready  for  our  Senior  year," 
Peter  retorted  over  her  shoulder,  as  she  ran  up  the 
stairs.  "We've  decided  to  be  called  the  'giddy 
six.'  " 

That  night,  had  the  Seniors  been  observant,  they 
would  have  discovered  that  not  one  Sophomore  was 
to  be  seen  in  the  corridors  or  rooms.  And  had 
Frances  Jones,  or  any  one  of  the  six,  chanced  to  go 
up  on  the  fourth  floor  at  about  half-past  eight,  and 
condescended  to  listen  at  the  door  of  Room  45, 
amicably  shared  by  Peter  and  Edna  Blythe,  she 
would  have  heard  much  that  was  edifying. 

Sophomores  were  packed  into  the  room  like  sar 
dines.  There  were  forty  of  them,  and  they  hung  on 
the  edges  of  the  couches  and  took  up  a  good  portion 
of  the  floor  space.  Peter  had  them  well  trained 

[96] 


<?HE  ARROGANCE  OF  $HE  SECOND  TEAR 

from  previous  meetings,  as  nothing  beyond  a  droning 
murmur  came  from  the  closed  door  into  the  corridor. 

"We  be  socialists,  we  be,"  a  high-pitched  voice 
rasped  out  from  the  corner. 

"Down  with  the  aristocracy — down  with  the 
Seniors — down  with  the  solemn  six,"  promptly 
responded  a  dozen  or  so,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

All  talked  under  their  breath,  until  the  same 
harsh  voice  cried,  "Give  the  yell." 

"Rah,  Rah,  Rah!  We're  Peterites,  Peterites, 
Peter-ites,  Rah-h !  "  came  in  subdued  tones  from  the 
room. 

"Speech !"  cried  a  lone  voice. 

"Speech!"  repeated  the  others. 

Peter  slipped  off  the  table,  stretched  her  diminu 
tive  height,  and  swelled  her  chest.  "Comrades  of 
Roble,  miserere" — (subdued  cheers  and,  "Stand  on 
the  table!  Can't  see  you!") — "Honestly,  girls," 
Peter  suddenly  assumed  the  conversational  tone,  "I 
can't  get  up  on  the  table,  my  head  will  bump  the 
chandelier." 

"Stand  on  the  table,"  came  the  peremptory  com 
mand. 

There  was  a  scuffle  before  Peter  continued  from 
her  position  of  vantage.  "We  are  in  the  zenith  of 
our  power  and  the  time  has  come  to  act.  The 

[  97] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

domineering  six  have  gone  to  the  limit  of  their 
power.  They  have  tried  to  force  a  straight  slate, 
headed  by  the  assumptive  Helen  Calkins,  prime 
member  of  their  solemn  clique,  down  the  throat  of 
the  heel-crushed  Hall.  But  the  time  will  come  when 
the  serpent  turns  and — bites."  (Snake  hisses  on 
every  side.  Peter  nodded  her  head  approvingly, 
then  struck  a  dramatic  posture.)  "Am  I  a  dog,  that 
this  tyranny  should  be  over  me?  Then  beware  my 
fangs.  I'll  have  my  bond,  I'll  have  my  pound  of 
flesh.  I'll  not  be  made  a  soft  and  dull-eyed  fool,  to 
shake  the  head,  relent  and  sigh,  and  yield  to  Senior 
intercessors.  I  will  have  my  pound  of  flesh."  (The 
room  snickered  gleefully,  "Go  on,  Peter.")  "Fate, 
through  me,  has  placed  the  Seniors  in  our  hands. 
We  will  crush  the  arrogance  of  the  six  into  the  dust 
— we  will  flaunt  the  independence  of  the  Hall." 
("That's  right,"  from  the  room.)  "We  will  make 
their  defeat  ignominious.  Said  I  to  myself,  I  hold 
the  little  finger  of  fate,  meaning  the  nominating 
committee,  and  here's  my  chance  to  put  it  on  the  six 
solemn  heads  that  sagely  wag,  and  methinks  I'll  put 
it  good  and  heavy,  me  and  my  comrades."  (A  mur 
mur  of  approval.)  "So  I  nominated  Miss  Kate 
Monroe,  save  the  mark,  she's  the  incognito  of  the 
Hall.  She'll  make  an  impression  on  the  Freshmen. 

[98] 


<fHE  ARROGANCE  OF  'THE  SECOND  TEAR 

Avaunt  with  Helen  Calkins's  freckled  face.  The 
comrades  are  one.  Does  it  please  the  assemblage'?" 

There  was  a  subdued  clapping  of  hands,  the  as 
sembled  comrades  rolled  their  eyes  around  at  each 
other  mischievously,  and  the  harsh  voice  in  the 
corner  rasped  out,  "You're  too  clever  to  live,  Peter." 

"Rah,  Rah,  we're  Peterites!"  responded  the 
room. 

Peter  made  a  low  bow.  "Comrades  of  Roble,  I 
appreciate  your  confidence.  I  proceed  to  instructions 
— demean  yourselves  as  heretofore — put  not  the 
Seniors  wise — canvass  no  upperclassmen."  Peter 
dropped  to  the  conversational.  "If  we  get  twenty 
of  the  thirty  Freshmen,  we  have  a  good  margin  on 
a  majority.  The  Seniors  won't  canvass — it's 
against  tradition.  Pass  this  bunch  of  slips  around, 
Edna.  You  are  to  put  down  your  names  (oh,  shades 
of  Professor  Nicholson!)  and  two  Freshmen  with 
whom  your  are  most  intimate — and  don't  get  excited 
about  it." 

Peter  dropped  down  to  her  original  seat  on  the 
edge  of  the  table.  There  was  a  buzz  of  whispered 
comments  and  calls  for  pencils.  Peter  checked  off 
the  Freshmen  as  the  slips  came  back,  and  handed 
back  twenty-nine  of  them  to  the  girls.  "Doesn't  any 

[99] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

one  know  Alice  Wesley — is  she  another  Kate 
Monroe1?" 

In  the  two  days  that  followed,  the  Hall  came  to 
approve  and  even  to  applaud  Peter's  choice.  There 
was  one  girl  who  was  not  wholly  surprised  at  the 
sudden  wave  of  popularity  that  swept  Kate  toward 
the  election.  Soon  after  the  meeting  on  the  fourth 
floor,  she  had  gathered  up  two  or  three  members  of 
the  Sophomore  clique  and  had  sailed  into  Kate 
Monroe's  room  in  a  spirit  of  dare-deviltry.  They 
expected  to  remain  for  a  few  minutes  and  glean 
some  choice  bits  to  carry  back  to  an  appreciative 
few.  Instead,  they  stayed  until  the  lights  dipped 
and  discussed  many  subjects.  They  came  away  with 
a  feeling  of  sheepish  admiration  for  the  girl  who 
accepted  the  favour  of  the  Hall  with  such  naive  sim 
plicity.  "She's  a  new  species  in  Roble,  a  discovery!" 
Edna  circulated  the  report  through  the  Hall.  "And 
she's  going  to  take  the  place  by  storm." 

"Margaret,"  Kate  said,  stopping  Peter  the  day  of 
the  election,  as  the  latter  was  hurrying  past  her  on 
the  way  to  lunch,  "you're  the  best  friend  I  have  at 
college.  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you.  Do  you 
realize  that  you  have  readjusted  my  life  here  for  me*? 
I  wanted  to  know  the  girls  and  get  into  the  spirit 

[  100  1 


?HE  ARROGANCE  OF  ?HE  SECOND  TEAR 

of  the  Hall,  but  I  was  too  timid,  somehow.  You've 
certainly  proved  my  good  fairy — 

Peter's  forehead  puckered  painfully.  "I'm 
awfully  glad,  Kate."  She  spoke  weakly. 

"And  I  was  wondering  if  you  wouldn't  like  to 
go  to  the  fern  glen  I  told  you  of,  tomorrow  after 
noon?' 

"I  should  love  to."  Peter  surmised  that  it  was 
probably  the  first  invitation  of  the  kind  that  Kate 
had  ever  given  at  college. 

Later,  when  Peter  refused  Edna  Blythe's  invita 
tion  to  "go  down  to  Paly,"  Edna  turned  on  her  in 
surprise.  "What's  the  matter  with  you,  Peter1? 
You've  got  an  awful  mood  on,  and  everything  is 
going  Kate's  way,  too.  Talk  about  putting  it  on  the 
Seniors!"  She  laughed,  gleefully.  "Helen  Calkins 
is  so  sore  that  she  wants  to  withdraw,  and  the  six 
won't  let  her.  They  are  scurrying  around  canvassing 
this  afternoon." 

But  even  that  information  did  not  bring  a  smile 
from  Peter.  "I'm  going  to  the  Library,"  she  said. 
The  Library  and  unheard-of  volumes  were  Peter's 
recourse  from  a  depressed  state  of  mind. 

In  the  evening  Kate  Monroe  was  the  center  of  a 
congratulatory  crowd  that  blocked  the  corridor  in 
front  of  the  Roble  parlors,  and  scattered  down  the 

[101] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

stairway  in  groups  of  two  and  three.  She  had  been 
elected  by  a  large  majority,  and  the  applause  on  the 
reading  of  the  returns  had  been  deafening.  Peter 
stood  near  her,  hesitatingly.  One  by  one  the 
Sophomores  left  for  the  top  floor  and  Room  45. 

Kate  Monroe,  on  seeing  Peter,  turned  to  her 
gratefully,  but  Frances  Jones  stepped  in  ahead  of 
her.  "Let  me  congratulate  you  Sophs  on  the  way 
you  have  put  it  on  us  Seniors  in  the  election."  Her 
voice  was  distinct  and  scornful.  Peter  merely 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  turned  away. 

"What  did  you  mean  by  that,  Frances?"  a  curious 
voice  asked. 

Kate  hesitated,  and  listened  to  the  response. 
With  it  all  the  brightness  left  her  face. 

"Peter  and  the  Sophs  have  a  spite  against  Helen 

Calkins,     so    they    chose     an     inconspicuous 

Frances  stopped,  embarrassed,  as  she  caught  sight 
of  Kate's  drawn  face. 

It  was  the  reserved,  cold  Kate  Monroe,  ignored 
for  three  years  in  the  Hall,  who  slipped  hurriedly 
out  of  the  crowd  and  hastened  toward  her  room. 
She  was  sobbing  before  she  reached  the  door. 

Up  in  Room  45  the  Sophomores  were  again  packed 
in  like  sardines.  A  table,  swept  of  books  and  papers, 
was  covered  with  plates  of  "eats."  Three  channg- 

[  102] 


THE  ARROGANCE  OF  THE  SECOND  TEAR 

dishes  of  creamed  chicken  were  steaming  on  another, 
borrowed  for  the  occasion.  Edna  Blythe  was  sitting 
on  the  floor,  with  piles  of  Roble  china  and  two  boxes 
of  crackers  in  front  of  her,  ready  to  slip  a  cracker 
on  a  plate  and  pass  it  up  to  the  cooks.  A  coffee-pot 
was  humming  away  on  the  bureau. 

"Everything  is  ready,"  one  of  the  cooks  an 
nounced.  "Pass  up  the  dishes,  Edna,  we're  tired 
of  jubilating  over  the  Seniors — poor  use  of  our  time, 
with  all  the  eats  over  there." 

"Wait  a  minute,  Peter  hasn't  come  yet,"  some  one 
remonstrated. 

"She's  had  a  half-hour  to  congratulate  Kate 
Monroe  in — that  ought  to  be  enough."  The  cook 
had  become  irritable.  The  other  two  were  enjoying 
scrapings  from  the  edges  of  their  chafing-dishes  and 
made  no  remarks. 

"Put  in  some  more  milk  and  be  cheerful,"  Edna 
admonished.  "Somebody  do  a  stunt  to  keep  the 
party  amused;  we're  saving  the  speeches  and  the 
hurrahs  till  Peter  comes." 

A  subdued  shout  of  laughter  greeted  Kathleen 
Knight  as  she  rose  and  made  her  bow.  Kathleen 
had  always  been  considered  timid.  "A  take-off  on 
the  solemn  six  after  the  election,"  she  announced. 

[  103] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

The  room  was  convulsed.  "Give  the  yell,"  some 
one  called  out.  It  was  given  with  enthusiasm. 

"Say,  girls,"  Dorothy  Howard  drawled,  "I  heard 
Frances  Jones  call  us  'darned  impertinent  Sophs.'  I 
asked  her  in  the  gentlest  way  possible  whether  she 
had  at  that  moment  an  overwhelming  desire  to  be 
a  man  with  the  privilege  of  profanity.  She  only 
grunted,  and  headed  toward  Peter  in  the  crush." 

"Peter's  tiny — you  ought  to  have  protected  her." 

There  was  a  whispered  conspiracy  for  a  moment. 
Then  a  demand  came  in  concert,  "We  want  eats." 

The  cook  put  down  the  milk  pitcher  which  she 
had  just  raised,  and  looked  inquiringly  at  Edna. 
The  latter  gazed  around  at  the  restless  throng. 
"No  use  waiting  for  Peter.  I  guess  she's  got  one  of 
her  moods  on,  so  there's  no  telling  when  she'll  turn 
up.  Here  you  go,"  as  she  passed  up  the  first  plate. 

A  murmur  of  approval  went  the  rounds. 

Meanwhile,  Peter  had  crept  into  Kate  Monroe's 
room  and  put  her  hand  gently  on  the  huddled  form 
on  the  couch.  "Poor,  poor  Kate."  The  lump  in 
Peter's  throat  kept  her  from  saying  anything  more. 

Kate  sat  up  and  dashed  the  tell-tale  tears  from 
her  cheeks.  "It's  pretty  late  to  be  pitying  me,  don't 
you  think,  Miss  Sears?  There's  no  use  in  my  trying 
to  understand  college.  My  old  life  was  the  only 

[  104] 


genuine  one — the  hills  and  my  books.  I've  had  my 
experience  and — and,"  she  hesitated,  "well,  that's 
enough."  There  was  a  resigned  bitterness  in  her 
voice. 

Peter  took  the  inert  hand  dumbly.  A  slow  tear 
rolled  unheeded  down  her  cheek. 

"And  I — thought,"  the  other  continued,  slowly, 
with  a  slight  quiver  in  her  voice,  "that  I  had  found 
a  genuine  friend  in  you.  And  I  was  so  surprised 
and  happy  over  the  friendliness  of  the  girls.  I  have 
never  been  so  content  here  as  in  the  last  two  days. 
I  told  myself  over  and  over  again  how  precious  sym 
pathy  was.  And  after  that " 

Then  Peter  unburdened  her  conscience-stricken 
mind;  told  her  from  the  beginning  to  the  end;  wept 
out  her  story  of  mental  anguish,  and  insisted  again 
and  again  upon  the  admiration  of  all  the  girls  for 
her.  "I  was  the  only  girl  that  wasn't  true  at  first, 
and  I  led  the  Sophomores  into  it — but  now,  now  it's 
all  different.  You  don't  know  how  I  respect  you — 
I'd  rather  have  your  friendship  than  any  one  else's 
here.  O  Kate,  you  are  too  dandy  to  draw  back 
into  your  shell,  and — why,  I  have  never  seen  the 
girls  become  so  suddenly  and  genuinely  fond  of  any 
one.  They  didn't  realize  it  sooner,  because  you  were 
so  non-assertive.  Can't  you  forget  the  beginning — 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

only  remember  the  end*?  And  oh,  Kate,  I  never  did 
such  a  thing  in  my  life  before,  and  I  feel — won't 
you  forgive  me?" 

Room  45  was  suddenly  hushed  as  the  door  knob 
turned.  Dread  of  a  possible  authoritative  in 
terference  changed  to  astonishment  as  Peter  slowly 
walked  in,  followed  by  Kate  Monroe.  There  were 
traces  of  tears  on  both  faces.  Peter's  unusual  emo 
tion  was  ill-concealed. 

"Girls,  we  are  not  celebrating  the  defeat  of  the 
Seniors!"  her  voice  vibrated  as  she  spoke,  and  she 
put  her  arm  around  Kate  Monroe,  "but  the  election 
of  one  of  the  finest,  dandiest  girls  the  Hall  has 
known." 

There  was  a  moment  of  tense  silence,  and  then  the 
room,  regardless  of  rules  and  week-night  decorum, 
cheered  long  and  enthusiastically. 


[106] 


Dofynston  an6  tfyc  Seminar 


MISS    JOHNSTON    AND    THE    SEMINAR 
SYSTEM 

Marion  and  Elizabeth  were  looking  for  Miss 
Johnston.  They  had  searched  the  Library  from  the 
galleries  to  the  basement,  every  secluded  nook  where 
the  pelican  variety  loves  to  dig  in  secret — all  of  Miss 
Johnston's  haunts,  as  Elizabeth  put  it,  with  her 
fascinating  drawl — and  Miss  Johnston  had  not  been 
forthcoming.  Marion  was  anxious.  She  had  prom 
ised  the  other  occupants  of  the  back  row  in  Botany 
16  that  she  would  look  her  up,  and  in  Elizabeth's 
case  especially  she  felt  there  was  urgent  necessity. 
Besides  being  from  the  East  and  a  Botany  major, 
Miss  Johnston  had  a  "pull  with  the  Prof."  She  was 
one  of  those  students  who  have  more  friends  among 
the  faculty  than  among  the  undergraduates,  and  in 
view  of  the  coming  "ex,"  though,  as  Elizabeth  ad 
mitted,  it  was  cheeky  to  ask  her,  Miss  Johnston 
had  been  picked  as  the  sacrifice  to  atone  for  the 
shortcomings  of  the  back  row  in  Botany  16. 

Finally,  with  a  gleam  of  Sherlockian  intelligence, 
Marion  suggested  that  they  wander  around  to  the 
Y.  W.  C.  A.  meeting.  "She  must  be  here  some 
place,"  she  added,  "because  that  looks  like  her 

[  109] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

bicycle  out  there  by  the  balustrade,  the  one  with  the 
elaborate  book-carrying  appliance  on  front." 

"I'm  glad  you  said  'wander,'  "  Elizabeth  mur 
mured,  appreciatively:  "that's  about  my  speed 
limit." 

The  fact  that  they  were  incautious  in  approaching 
the  open  door  of  the  chapel,  and  were  compelled  by 
decency  to  enter,  was  lost  sight  of  as  Miss  Johnston 
was  discovered  on  the  other  side  of  the  room. 
Marion  kept  an  eye  on  her  during  the  prayer,  after 
which  a  sweet  old  lady  with  the  face  of  a  saint  ad 
dressed  the  meeting,  telling  in  her  quaint,  old- 
fashioned  way  her  religious  experiences  as  a  girl. 
With  a  soul  for  atmosphere,  the  dreamy  Marion  fell 
in  love  with  her  at  once,  and  was  soon  lost  in  follow 
ing  her  back  down  the  years  into  the  far-distant 
golden  youth,  which  always  hangs  as  a  halo  about 
the  aged.  And  in  the  lesser  light  of  the  late  after 
noon,  Elizabeth's  wide  eyes  assumed  an  expression 
almost  of  piety. 

Their  rare  presence  had  created  an  impression, 
and  after  the  meeting,  as  they  carelessly  approached 
Miss  Johnston,  with  an  art  known  only  to  experi 
enced  rushers,  their  victim,  in  a  shy  way,  was  so  glad 
to  see  them  and  wanted  to  know  why  they  didn't 
come  oftener. 

[HO] 


MISS  JOHNSTON  and  the  SEMINAR  STSfEM 

"I've  always  had  'lab'  before  at  this  hour," 
Marion  explained,  mercilessly  leaving  Elizabeth  in 
the  lurch.  "Isn't  it  frightful  to  have  one's  after 
noons  taken  up4?  You  can't  go  anywhere." 

"Well,  I  never  work  in  the  evening,  so  I  don't 
mind  much,"  Miss  Johnston  put  in,  weakly. 

"Of  course,  there  is  that  side  of  it,  too,"  Marion 
laughed  frankly;  "sometimes  I  really  wish  I  were  a 
science  major." 

Miss  Johnston  beamed  with  departmental  pride. 
"You  ought  to  change.  There's  nothing  like  it." 

Marion  fell  back  a  little.  "I'm  afraid  I'm  too 
lazy.  I  have  a  perversion  for  lecture  courses." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  door,  and  when 
the  end  of  the  Quad  was  neared,  the  subject  of 
Botany  16  had  been  carefully  led  up  to. 

"It's  very  inclusive,"  Miss  Johnston  said,  appre 
ciatively,  "really  a  summary  of  all  Botany,  and 
Professor  Jones  handles  it  in  such  a  masterful  way." 

"That's  the  trouble,"  sadly  murmured  Elizabeth, 
who  had  kept  in  the  background. 

"You  see,  we  haven't  had  any  Botany  before," 
Marion  explained,  "the  names  alone  simply  stagger 
us."  She  glanced  at  Elizabeth.  "I  suppose  we 
might  as  well  own  up  that  we  heard  it  was  an  awful 
'pipe'  last  semester,  and  so  we  took  it.  We've  been 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

to  every  lecture,  but  we  can't  even  take  notes  intel 
ligently  and  we're  simply  appalled  before  that 
examination." 

Miss  Johnston  seemed  affected.  "Have  you  the 
book1?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  we're  going  to  get  it  on  our  way  home. 
You  see,  we  haven't  done  anything  yet." 

There  was  a  pause. 

Marion  coughed.  "We  wondered  if  you  would 
mind  going  over  some  of  it  with  us.  If  it  wouldn't 
be  too  much  trouble  for  you,  it  would  be  an  awful 
help." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  her  appealingly.  "I  know 
I'm  not  going  to  pass  it  and  I  need  the  hour  to 
graduate." 

Miss  Johnston  was  reluctant.  She  dreaded  any 
innovation  on  the  even  routine  of  her  carefully 
scheduled  existence.  But  they  were  such  pleasant 
girls — in  the  end,  she  said  she  would  be  glad  to  do 
it  if  she  really  could  help  them. 

Elizabeth  almost  fell  into  her  arms,  and  her  sigh 
of  relief  was  beautiful  to  hear. 

"Tomorrow  night  at  the  house?"  Marion  ques 
tioned.  "You  had  better  stay  all  night,  as  it  is  so 
hard  to  get  back  to  Palo  Alto  then." 

Miss  Johnston  hesitated.     "To  be  out  at  night!" 


MISS  JOHNSTON  and  the  SEMINAR  STSfEM 

A  sort  of  frightened  feeling  stole  over  her.  Yet 
what  could  she  do  but  accept  in  the  end"? 

Elizabeth  in  absolute  joy  raced  homeward  along 
the  deserted  Quad,  Marion  following  after.  At  the 
post-office,  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  which  lined  up 
for  the  five-thirty  mail,  they  saw  Sam. 

"We've  got  her,"  Elizabeth  almost  shouted,  un 
mindful  of  appearances,  "for  tomorrow." 

The  seminar  had  assembled  and  was  waiting. 
The  victims  of  the  examination  system  there  repre 
sented  were  all  confirmed  converts  to  the  seminar 
habit,  which  substitutes  one  hard,  quick  cram  for  the 
process  of  daily  absorption.  They  were  gathered 
around  the  long,  white  oilcloth-covered  table  in  the 
Lambda  Eta  kitchen,  which  the  Lambda  Eta  cook 
boasted  was  the  neatest  kitchen  on  the  campus,  with 
its  white-painted  woodwork,  its  model  French  range, 
and  its  long,  high  sink  under  the  windows.  At  any 
rate,  it  was  the  favorite  seminar  place  of  the  house 
and  was  signed  up  for  far  ahead  in  examination 
week.  The  fire  in  the  range  warmed  the  room 
pleasantly,  and  kept  at  a  simmering  heat  a  huge 
coffee-pot.  On  the  long  sink  were  piles  of  shining 
plates  and  silver. 

Marion,  with  a  head  for  the  system  of  the  thing, 
sat  at  the  end  of  the  table,  her  elbows  firmly  planted 


AW  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

upon  it.  Collecting  the  syllabus  with  a  decisive 
shuffle,  she  began  to  read  from  the  first  page.  Eliza 
beth,  her  head  bent  down  at  a  most  attractive  angle, 
was  industriously  beginning  to  cover  a  huge  sheet  of 
paper  with  very  fine  notes.  Marion  had  once  indi 
cated  to  her  in  no  veiled  fashion  the  telegraphic  re 
semblance  in  the  uninterrupted  connection  between 
her  sense  of  hearing  and  the  point  of  her  foun 
tain-pen.  Margaret  Sears  was  chewing  the  end 
of  her  pencil  and  gazing  at  the  ceiling,  her  features 
puckered  in  an  effort  at  concentration  which  dis 
regarded  appearances.  At  the  other  end  of  the 
paper-littered  table,  Willy  Saunders  elaborately 
fashioned  a  pencil  point.  He  was  handsome  almost 
to  a  degree  of  wickedness,  and  carried  around  with 
him  a  most  exasperating  air  of  careless  indifference; 
at  least,  exasperating  to  Marion,  who,  though  half 
fascinated  herself,  guessed  his  true  value.  But  he 
was  a  member  of  the  "back  row,"  and  so  had  been 
asked. 

Sam  was  posted  on  the  front  porch  to  steer  Miss 
Johnston  clear  of  the  English  Club,  which  was 
meeting  in  the  front  rooms,  whence  came  a  confused 
murmur  of  animated  conversation.  His  task  be 
came  a  doubly  difficult  one  when  Miss  Johnston  and 
the  speaker  of  the  evening  arrived  in  the  same  bus. 

[114] 


MISS  JOHNSTON  and  the  SEMINAR  STSfEM 

The  senior's  hair  almost  stood  on  end  as  he  recog 
nized  that  it  would  be  his  duty  to  single  out  Miss 
Johnston,  suit-case  and  all,  without  explanation  to 
her  companion.  As  he  introduced  himself  and 
pulled  her  aside  just  in  time  to  avoid  the  wide  front 
door  which  was  held  open,  the  expression  of  amaze 
ment  on  Miss  Johnston's  face  grew  to  one  almost  of 
terror;  and,  if  the  busman  had  not  driven  away  im 
mediately,  she  would  probably  have  returned,  rather 
than  have  risked  walking  around  to  the  back  door  in 
the  dark  with  a  strange  student. 

However,  when  Sam  had  helped  her  up  the  back 
steps,  where  she  stumbled  blindly,  she  was  greeted 
effusively  by  the  girls  and  by  Willy  Saunders  in  his 
most  polite  manner.  The  suit  case  was  pushed  be 
hind  the  stove,  an  extra  chair  was  brought  from  the 
dining-room,  and  the  seminar  settled  down  to  earnest 
effort. 

The  first  lecture  proved  rather  tractable,  as  it  was 
almost  entirely  introductory.  Saunders  congratu 
lated  himself  proudly  as  he  answered  Marion's 
challenging  question  on  the  definition  of  Botany. 

"Hold  on,"  called  Sam,  "the  old  man  hasn't  asked 
a  question  on  the  introduction  for  the  last  five  years, 
and  here  are  the  :ex'  papers  to  prove  it."  Trium 
phantly  he  pulled  a  bundle  of  much-handled  type- 

[115] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

written  sheets  from  his  pocket.  They  were  snatched 
at  with  exaggerated  eagerness  and  passed  around  the 
table. 

Miss  Johnston  stared.  Such  methods  and  such 
language  were  beyond  her  comprehension.  Willy, 
in  mock  humility,  almost  crawled  under  the  table, 
and  Marion  sternly  brought  things  to  order  by 
beginning  on  lecture  two. 

"Always  asks  about  the  constituents  of  proto 
plasm,"  interrupted  Sam,  and  all  listened  respect 
fully  while  Miss  Johnston  gave  the  correct  list  for 
them  to  write  down.  A  description  of  the  simplest 
forms  of  life  required  explanation,  Elizabeth  insist 
ing  in  her  positive  manner  that  a  slime-mole  can 
breathe,  while  it  exhausted  all  the  resources  of  the 
rest  to  convince  her  that  it  cannot  in  the  way  she 
meant.  A  compromise  was  effected  by  Miss  John 
ston,  and  the  excitement  had  subsided,  when  a  dele 
gate  from  the  English  Club  ventured  a  head  inside 
the  door  and  requested  less  noise.  In  the  hush  that 
followed  they  could  hear  the  steady,  deep  boom  of 
the  speaker's  voice,  mingled  with  the  giggles  of  the 
Lambda  Etas  listening  on  the  back  stairs. 

"What's  he  talking  about?" 

"Reading  an  original  poem,  and  you're  making 
an  awful  noise."  The  delegate  closed  the  door. 

[116] 


MISS  JOHNSTON  and  the  SEMINAR  STS^fEM 

In  a  whisper  Miss  Johnston  was  asked  to  explain 
how  plants  first  progressed  from  water  to  land.  The 
subject  was  then  discussed  at  length  all  around  the 
table,  especially  with  reference  to  what  one  should 
write  on  an  examination  paper. 

"Higher  forms  of  the  green  algse,"  repeated 
Saunders;  "that  sounds  good.  I'll  remember  that." 
His  list  of  things  to  remember  was  growing  gradu 
ally,  and  it  was  he  who  finally  suggested  that  they 
go  over  the  former  examination  questions,  one  by 
one,  and  draw  up  a  passable  answer  to  each.  The 
table  exchanged  glances,  and,  deciding  that  it  would 
hardly  be  a  loss  of  time,  the  plan  was  followed. 
Miss  Johnston  led  in  the  discussions,  the  rest  added 
from  their  notes  and  the  syllabus,  and  Saunders  care 
fully  jotted  down  the  result.  As  the  same  questions 
occurred  rather  systematically,  Marion  figured  that 
he  stood  a  fair  chance  of  getting  at  least  two-thirds 
of  them. 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  the  last  set  that  a  muffled 
outburst  of  applause  from  the  other  part  of  the 
house  warned  them  that  the  English  Club  was  about 
to  break  up. 

"I  guess  an  intermission  is  in  order  now,"  giggled 
Elizabeth.  "After  Dr.  Robinson's  vote  of  thanks, 

[117] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

the -howling  mob  will  be  out  here.  Don't  any  one 
skip  for  good,  though,"  she  added. 

Sam  and  Marion,  swiftly  gathering  their  papers, 
vanished  into  the  dining-room,  unwilling  to  be 
caught  by  their  more  dutiful  fellow-members  who 
had  attended.  Saunders  retreated  as  far  as  the 
pantry,  while  Elizabeth  and  Margaret  swept  stray 
papers  to  a  place  of  safety. 

Voices  and  footsteps  were  heard  approaching,  and 
in  a  moment  the  door  burst  open,  letting  in  the  mem 
bers  of  the  refreshment  committee,  followed  by  a 
host  of  helpers,  whose  ranks  were  augmented  by 
couples  returning  from  the  Library.  Two  huge 
freezers  were  hauled  in  from  the  back  porch,  and, 
before  Willy  could  object,  Elizabeth  had  singled 
him  out  from  among  the  stragglers,  presented  him 
with  a  white  apron,  and  set  him  at  work  over  one  of 
the  cold,  wet  cans,  mining  spoonfuls  of  chocolate  ice 
cream.  He  grinned  sheepishly  as  the  other  men 
gathered  around,  waiting  with  huge  trays  of  white 
plates,  and  urging  him  to  "get  a  hustle  on."  As 
rapidly  as  he  managed  to  fill  them  up,  the  trays  were 
hurried  off  to  the  front  rooms,  amidst  the  rattle  of 
dishes  and  noisy  conversation.  They  were  followed 
by  supplies  of  cake.  Sam,  peering  from  the  dining- 
room  door,  announced  to  Marion  that  Willy  was 

[us] 


MISS  JOHNSTON  and  the  SEMINAR  STSfEM 

doing  his  first  good  day's  work.  At  any  rate,  when 
the  latter  finally  straightened  up  from  his  labors,  he 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and  sank  into  a  chair. 

The  long  table  was  then  cluttered  with  innumer 
able  coffee  cups,  which  Margaret  and  Elizabeth  filled 
from  the  big  pot  and  sent  close  upon  the  trail  of  the 
ice-cream,  the  last  of  which  Sam  had  enviously 
watched  disappear.  He  and  Marion  did  not  venture 
out  until  the  last  of  the  noisy  assistants  had  van 
ished.  They  remembered  Miss  Johnston  with  a 
guilty  conscience.  She  was  sitting  in  the  same  place, 
her  hands  folded  in  her  lap  and  her  bewildered  eyes 
taking  in  everything.  Marion  was  truly  sorry  and 
helped  her  bountifully  when  refreshments  were  or 
dered  for  the  "kitchen,"  as  a  reward  for  their  labors 
and  in  appreciation  of  the  generous  orders  of  the 
English  Club.  Free  from  the  restraint  of  the  gather 
ing  in  the  other  room,  the  occupants  of  the  kitchen 
devoured  ice-cream  and  cake  in  copious  quantities. 
In  the  storm  of  returning  plates  the  "Have-one-on- 
me"  inner  society  of  the  English  Club  came  out  and 
took  possession  of  the  pantry  for  a  meeting,  whence 
came  at  intervals  shouts  of  laughter  and  hilarious 
bits  of  conversation. 

It  was  eleven-thirty  before  the  order  of  the  sem 
inar  was  restored,  and  then  Saunders,  whose  good 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

humor  had  returned,  carefully  pocketing  the  results 
of  his  evening's  work,  announced  that  he  was  much 
obliged  but  would  have  to  go  as  he  had  another 
seminar  to  attend  before  retiring. 

The  rest  gathered  more  closely  around  the  table, 
and  though  other  seminars  from  up-stairs  came  down 
and  pestered  them  for  coffee,  for  the  next  half  hour 
Sam  held  Miss  Johnston's  supreme  attention,  diving 
into  the  whys  and  wherefores  of  plant  evolution. 
Perched  on  the  edge  of  his  chair,  one  hand  ruffling  his 
disordered  hair  and  the  other  punctuating,  with  a  jab 
of  the  pencil,  the  points  which  he  made  from  time  to 
time,  he  inquired  into  relations  and  causes  with  an 
intentness  that  flushed  Miss  Johnston's  cheeks  with 
excitement  and  kept  her  mind  responding  at  its  high 
est  tension.  Marion  looked  at  her  and  wondered. 
In  this  intellectual  encounter  her  eyes  shone  and  she 
held  her  own.  She  forgot  her  usual  shyness,  and  the 
pleasure  in  her  face  gave  it  a  look  almost  of  pretti- 
ness.  The  heights  of  thinking  which  she  revealed 
made  the  other  girl  wince,  and  her  wonderful  ap 
preciation  of  the  immense  grandeur  of  the  slow  evo 
lutionary  process  which  the  lectures  set  forth  was 
almost  reverent.  In  the  end  Sam  was  talking  for 
the  pure  love  of  the  argument.  Elizabeth  gazed  in  a 
dazed  manner,  watching  Sam  in  a  sort  of  bewilder- 

[120] 


MISS  JOHNSTON  and  the  SEMINAR  STSfEM 

ment  at  Miss  Johnston's  momentary  triumph.  Mar 
garet  was  following  closely,  taking  notes. 

At  twelve,  Elizabeth  tiptoed  through  the  hall  and 
cautiously  let  Sam  out  the  front  door.  When  she 
returned,  Margaret  had  gathered  together  her  notes, 
and  commenting  on  Marion's  thoughtfulness  in  ask 
ing  her  to  stay  all  night,  said  she  would  retire  to 
dream  of  algee  and  pteridophytes  and  take  her 
chances  in  the  morning. 

In  the  kitchen  there  was  no  sound  save  the  ticking 
of  the  alarm  clock  on  the  wall  and  the  drip  of  water 
in  the  sink,  while  Marion  was  engaged  in  pouring 
another  round  of  coffee.  It  seemed  to  revive  at  least 
two  of  the  company  wonderfully.  Elizabeth  de 
clared  she  wasn't  sleepy  at  all,  and  Miss  Johnston, 
both  excited  and  stimulated,  refused  to  go  to  bed 
until  they  did.  A  sense  of  profound  quiet  and  secur 
ity  reigned,  and  Elizabeth  vowed  that  if  she  ever 
was  going  to  learn  anything,  now  was  the  time. 

"I  have  such  a  jumble  of  things  in  my  head 
though."  She  looked  at  her  voluminous  notes  help 
lessly.  "I  can't  seem  to  make  head  or  tail  of  any 
thing.  Oh,  why  didn't  I  stick  to  the  French  depart 
ment,"  she  wailed,  and  her  grief  was  distressing. 

Marion  regarded  her  meditatively.  "I  wish  you 
had,"  almost  rose  to  her  lips,  but  she  shut  them 

[121] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

firmly.  Marion  was  tired  and  her  temper  had  almost 
got  the  better  of  her.  Why,  she  wondered,  was  Eliza 
beth  so  adorably  stupid.  Anyone  should  have  been 
able  to  grasp  the  important  points  long  ago.  As  it 
was,  she  merely  said  patiently,  "We'll  begin  at  the 
beginning  and  Miss  Johnston  will  explain  as  we  go 
along."  The  latter  smiled  encouragingly  and 
Marion  took  heart.  Gradually  they  re-covered  the 
ground,  Marion  carefully  pointing  out  the  important 
things,  and  Elizabeth  slowly  and  with  difficulty 
clearing  her  mind  of  erroneous  impressions.  When 
a  great  light  did  dawn  on  the  subject,  and  she  per 
ceived  the  difference  between  an  archegonium  and  an 
antheridium,  she  rejoiced  triumphantly  and  they 
stopped  for  another  round  of  coffee. 

At  two,  however,  Elizabeth  had  become  entangled 
again.  The  undemonstrative  Marion  laid  her  head 
on  the  table  and  wept  tears  of  vexation.  She  was 
mentally  exhausted  by  the  effort  of  persuading  Eliza 
beth  to  concentrated  thinking.  In  a  moment  Eliza 
beth's  head  was  down  beside  hers,  her  tears  were 
dried,  and  Elizabeth  was  begging  her  to  give  it  up 
and  not  mind  about  her  flunking.  Marion  refused 
stoutly.  "Not  when  we're  going  to  graduate  to 
gether,"  she  sobbed. 

Miss   Johnston   came   to   the   relief.      Tactfully 

[  122] 


MISS  JOHNSTON  and  the  SEMINAR  STSfEM 

she  suggested  that  she  read  from  "Jones's  Manual," 
in  order  to  impart  a  final  clear  impression.  For 
an  hour  Miss  Johnston's  voice  droned  on  evenly, 
the  monotony  broken  only  by  the  recurrence  of 
the  long  botanical  names,  or  when  Elizabeth 
looked  up  to  ask  a  question.  Then  they  discussed 
again  and  Marion  herself  became  involved  over  the 
identification  of  the  macrospore  in  the  gymnosperms. 
Miss  Johnston  drew  diagrams,  and  Marion  called 
nondescript  dots  and  circles  by  most  unscientific 
names.  Books,  pencils,  and  papers  were  piled  to 
gether  to  form  rough  models,  and  when  it  was  set 
tled  there  were  dark  circles  under  Miss  Johnston's 
eyes.  Still  she  would  not  admit  being  tired.  In 
fact,  she  was  very  happy,  and  just  then  an  endless 
seminar  with  Marion  and  Elizabeth  would  have 
seemed  very  pleasant.  The  intimacy  at  which  they 
had  arrived  by  three-thirty  was  as  charming  as  it 
was  novel  to  Miss  Johnston.  They  had  all  laughed 
at  Elizabeth's  sigh  of  relief  as  she  grasped  a  point, 
and  then  the  latter  had  held  her  hand  and  called 
her  "a  perfect  peach,"  while  Marion  blessed  her 
inwardly. 

It  was  after  four  when  the  older  girl  finally  re 
lented  and  creeping  stealthily  up-stairs  returned  with 
an  armful  of  comforters.  In  a  matter-of-fact  manner 

[  123] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

at  which  Miss  Johnston  was  appalled,  she  remarked 
that  they  might  as  well  bunk  in  on  the  couches  in 
the  other  room  and  save  the  trouble  of  going  to  bed. 

Huddled  up  among  the  pillows  on  one  of  the 
Lambda  Eta  divans,  Miss  Johnston  closed  her  eyes 
in  a  vain  endeavor  to  sleep.  A  vague  feeling  of  ela 
tion  at  having  been  most  extraordinarily  reckless 
made  her  heart  beat  faster  than  it  ought  to.  It  was 
all  right  except  that  there  was  a  tightening  between 
her  brows  that  forbode  a  splitting  headache,  and  her 
mind  kept  reiterating  the  words,  "coffee,"  "seminar," 
"Marion,"  "Elizabeth,"  "Jones,"  "old  man."  Turn 
as  she  might,  she  could  think  of  nothing  else,  and 
there  was  somehow  a  strange  uncomfortableness 
about  sleeping  in  one's  clothes.  Again  she  won 
dered  what  her  friends  would  say  if  they  knew,  and  a 
shiver  of  horror  stole  over  her. 

Slowly  the  time  passed  until  a  gray  light  filtered 
in  through  the  east  windov/s,  and  there  was  the  rattle 
of  a  key  in  the  back  door,  followed  by  heavy  steps  in 
the  kitchen.  Miss  Johnston  sat  up  in  terror,  but 
Marion  called  over  that  it  was  only  the  cook  coming 
in  to  get  breakfast.  As  she  lay  down  again  Miss 
Johnston  felt  her  head  throb  excruciatingly,  and  so 
decided  to  occupy  one  of  the  large  armchairs  until 
breakfast  should  be  ready.  The  other  two  joined 


MISS  JOHNSTON  and  the  SEMINAR  STSfEM 

her  soon,  and  when  the  early  risers  came  down  from 
above  they  found  the  trio  crouched  about  a  fire  in  the 
grate.  Marion  and  Elizabeth  were  memorizing  lists 
of  genera  and  species  and  Miss  Johnston  was  holding 
her  head  thoughtfully. 

The  looks  of  her  surprised  sisters  were  evaded  by 
the  older  girl  until  she  could  no  longer  stand  it,  and 
then  Elizabeth  caught  the  drift  of  a  severe  lecture 
from  the  adjoining  room,  and  Marion's  remon 
strance,  "Well,  I  only  did  it  for  Elizabeth."  She 
looked  at  Miss  Johnston,  who  smiled  heroically. 

The  propensities  of  the  Lambda  Etas  toward  late 
rising  and  the  disposition  of  the  cook,  had  reduced 
breakfast  there  to  a  very  simple  affair.  The  sight 
of  more  coffee  filled  Miss  Johnston  with  qualms  of 
apprehension,  but  she  tried  to  eat  a  few  mouthfuls 
of  toast.  At  eight  o'clock  Miss  Johnston's  suitcase 
was  rescued  from  behind  the  kitchen  stove,  where  it 
had  been  put  the  night  before;  the  girls  refilled  their 
fountain  pens  and  searched  the  house  for  "ex" 
blanks.  The  walk  down  the  row  was  made  in 
silence,  but  to  Miss  Johnston  it  seemed  as  though  she 
were  in  the  midst  of  a  triumphant  procession — she 
had  attended  an  all-night  seminar. 

During  the  examination,  the  back  row  wrote  furi 
ously  and  with  satisfied  certainty — all  except 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Marion.  She  was  seeing  blank  spaces  where  she  had 
no  reason  to  expect  them,  and  her  mind  worked 
with  disconcerting  slowness.  At  first,  she  had  been 
concerned  only  for  Elizabeth,  but  a  glance  at  the 
questions  showed  her  that  Professor  Jones,  with  his 
usual  conservatism,  had  limited  himself  to  the  ques 
tions  issued  in  former  years.  Not  one  of  them  but 
had  seen  at  least  two  "ex"  seasons.  "Even  Eliza 
beth,"  Marion  sighed,  "ought  to  pass  easily." 

Relieved  of  this  anxiety,  she  began  to  write,  but 
the  answers  which  she  knew  so  well  somehow  be 
came  horribly  entangled.  Things  danced  before  her 
eyes,  and  when  she  wrote,  it  was  the  wrong  word 
and  not  the  one  she  had  intended.  Was  it  red  or 
green  algse  that  grew  so  large4?  She  tried  to  remem 
ber  some  that  she  had  seen  at  the  seashore  last  sum 
mer.  She  found  herself  imagining  that  they  were 
pink  and  purple.  "Pink  or  purple?  "  she  wondered, 
and  then  she  didn't  care  which.  It  was  all  right  as 
long  as  Elizabeth  knew. 

She  looked  up  dizzily  and  wondered  what  Miss 
Johnston  was  doing.  There  in  tb°  front  row,  her 
hat  was  a  hazy  blur  of  red  before  Marion's  eyes. 
She  imagined  that  Miss  Johnston  was  not  writing 
but  sat  leaning  her  head  on  her  hand.  "I  wonder 
how  she  feels'? "  thought  Marion,  and  gripped  the 


MISS  JOHNSTON  and  the  SEMINAR  STS^EM 

arm  of  her  own  chair  in  order  to  maintain  her  sense 
of  equilibrium.  Presently  Miss  Johnston  rose  un 
steadily.  She  walked  to  the  front  of  the  room  and 
laid  her  paper  on  the  desk,  evading  the  surprised 
look  of  Professor  Jones.  Marion  gazed  after  her  as 
she  groped  almost  blindly  for  the  door.  Then  with 
slow  deliberation  she  rose,  handed  in  her  own  paper, 
and  followed  Miss  Johnston. 

She  found  the  latter  in  the  hall,  pale  and  almost 
in  tears. 

"What  will  Professor  Jones  think4?  "  she  said. 
"What  will  he  think,  and  how  can  I  ever  explain4?  " 

Marion  tried  to  comfort  her.  "Do  you  feel  very 
badly4?  "  she  asked. 

"Everything  is  going  around,"  was  the  bewildered 
reply.  "I  don't  know  what  it  is.  I — I  think  I'll  go 
home.  He'll  never  have  the  same  opinion  of  me 
again,"  she  added. 

"He'll  give  you  another  chance,"  Marion  assured 
her. 

"I'd  be  too  ashamed  to  ask  him,"  wailed  Miss 
Johnston.  "I  never  would." 

"He'll  give  you  one  anyway,"  said  Marion.  "He 
knows  you  do  good  work.  I  only  hoped  you'd  put 
in  a  word  for  me." 

[127] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

"Did  you" — Miss  Johnston  choked  at  the  word 
—"did  you  f— flunk,  too?  " 

Marion  nodded  mournfully. 

Miss  Johnston  looked  sympathetic,  but  she  could 
not  suppress  her  own  mortification.  "It's  the  first 
time,"  she  moaned,  "I've  always  had  'A'  before. 
I — never — and  I  never  stayed  up  all  night  before," 
she  finished,  pressing  her  hand  against  her  forehead. 

Just  then  Elizabeth  burst  forth  from  the  class 
room  joyously,  and  caught  Miss  Johnston  by  the 
arm.  Her  eyes  were  dancing  with  laughter.  "I'm 
so  happy,"  she  cried.  "I  answered  every  one,  and 
I  know  I  drew  a  'B'  at  least.  And  it's  all  on  account 
of  you  two — you  were  perfectly  dandy  to  do  it." 

Miss  Johnston  tried  to  smile,  but  Marion  re 
garded  her  friend  wearily.  "Elizabeth,"  she  said, 
"I  hope  you  will  be  very  careful  of  that  diploma  of 
yours." 


[128] 


to~plato 


DEDICATE  TO  PLATO 

From  the  north  window  of  Mrs.  King's  comfort 
able  dining-room,  the  bright-sanded  crescent  of  Half 
Moon  Bay  and  the  blue  of  the  ocean  were  clearly 
discernible  below  the  range  upon  range  of  thick- 
wooded  foothills  that  slope  gently  down  to  the 
Coast.  Away  off,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  the 
Farallones  showed  themselves  in  the  clear  November 
air — two  dark  dots  on  the  horizon. 

Miss  Howard,  gazing  out  dreamily  past  Jim 
McNear's  head,  knew  that  it  was  the  last  time  she 
should  see  it  all  for  a  very  long  time.  She  had  en 
joyed  her  many  trips  to  this  odd  mountain  house 
more  than  any  other  outings  during  her  three  years 
at  the  University — the  air  was  so  fine  and  clear,  the 
view  of  the  ocean  so  satisfying,  after  being  shut  in 
for  weeks  down  there  in  the  valley,  and  the  beauty 
of  the  many  walks  through  the  woods  offered  a  com 
bination  of  sea  and  forest  that  was  delightful. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  brought  me  here,"  she  exclaimed 
impulsively. 

Even  the  simple,  homely  room  they  were  in  had 
become  suddenly  attractive  to  her.  A  rousing  fire 
crackled  pleasantly  in  the  little  iron  stove  at  one 

[131] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

side.  Over  in  the  corner  a  second  table,  only  brought 
into  service  for  the  overflow  of  guests  who  drive  up 
during  the  week-end,  had  been  pushed  back  against 
the  wall.  It  was  in  use  now  as  a  sewing- table,  and 
gay  bits  of  patchwork  and  a  sewing-basket  were  its 
chief  ornaments.  A  parrot  in  a  huge  cage  just  inside 
the  kitchen  door  broke  in  every  now  and  then  with 
a  torrent  of  volubility  or  launched  forth  upon  the 
solemn  chanting  of  the  Litany  in  a  way  that  was 
irresistibly  droll.  Miss  Howard's  mood  was  satis 
fied  absolutely  with  the  atmosphere  of  it  all. 

"You're  really  glad4? "  McNear  queried  in  a 
pleased  voice.  "Well,  I  shan't  be  if  you  don't  eat 
something.  You  ought  to  be  famished  after  this 
long  drive — and  your  week  at  the  Guild,"  he  fin 
ished  laughingly. 

"It  was  rather  prosaic.  But  see  here,  you  aren't 
doing  your  share  either." 

McNear  looked  down  at  his  plate  and  made  a  wry 
face.  In  spite  of  the  medley  of  tempting  aromas 
from  one  of  Mrs.  King's  inimitable  dinners,  he  had 
conscientiously  helped  himself  only  to  such  things 
as  the  training  table  at  the  Inn  would  have  offered 
him. 

"One  of  the  sacrifices  of  a  football  man,"  he  ex 
plained  with  a  mock-heroic  gesture  at  his  plate. 

[ 


DEDICATE   TO  PLATO 

Miss  Howard's  face  assumed  an  exaggerated  pity. 
"In  my  present  frame  of  mind  and  appetite,"  she 
assured  him,  "I  could  imagine  a  no  more  difficult  one 
to  live  up  to.  You  see  what  a  poor  hospital  subject 
I  am!  "  she  added  challengingly,  though  the  peaked 
look  of  her  face  belied  her. 

The  first  thing  that  impressed  you  about  Frances 
Howard  was  the  extreme  fragileness  of  her  physique. 
The  girls  at  Madrona  spoke  of  her  as  "the  piece 
of  Dresden,"  and  nothing  had  ever  described  her 
more  accurately.  Her  slight,  oval  face,  with  its  deli 
cacy  of  contour  and  feature,  was  strangely  in  har 
mony  with  her  slender  figure.  Something  about  the 
slightly  accentuated  cheek  bones  and  the  way  her 
dark  hair  grew  down  softly  about  her  temples 
gave  her  an  indefinable  charm  and  distinction.  Her 
brown  eyes  had  a  kindly,  misty  sort  of  way  of  look 
ing  at  you,  that  would  have  added  the  last  touch  to 
the  spiritual  impression  of  her  personality,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  merry  lights  that  danced  behind 
them  when  she  was  amused,  and  the  charming 
piquancy  of  expression  that  never  left  her  features 
a  moment  in  repose. 

Miss  Howard's  home  town  was  over  on  the  At 
lantic  seaboard,  in  the  south  of  Maryland,  and  she 
had  been  dropped  off  at  Stanford  just  three  years 

[  133] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

before  as  her  family  went  through  from  a  summer 
in  Santa  Barbara.  She  had  come  to  love  the  free, 
open-hearted  life  of  the  West  as  only  an  Eastern- 
bred  girl  can,  and  her  family,  watching  the  added 
vigour  with  which  she  came  home  to  them  each  sum 
mer,  were  glad  to  let  her  return. 

There  was  a  quizzical  look  on  Miss  Howard's 
face  as  she  glanced  up  at  McNear.  "I  don't  see  why 
they  are  shipping  me  off  home,"  she  protested  rue 
fully.  "To  'get  down  to  Florida  and  come  north 
with  the  spring,'  sounds  very  poetic,  no  doubt,  but 
it  is  a  wretched  inconvenience  just  the  same." 

"Let's  not  talk  about  that  today,  Frances,"  he  said 
quietly.  "Sunday  will  be  here  soon  enough." 

"Procrastinating  again"?  "  Miss  Howard  tossed 
her  head  with  a  bantering  air,  and  McNear  winced, 
in  spite  of  the  playfulness  in  her  voice,  as  he  was 
reminded  of  the  proverbial  characteristic  with  which 
the  college  world  coupled  his  name.  He  went  back 
over  his  three  years  in  the  University.  He  had 
"made"  all  the  easy  honours  in  the  way  of  organiza 
tions,  he  had  queened  with  an  enthusiasm  as  effec 
tive  as  it  was  varied,  and — he  had  just  missed  the 
things  he  most  wanted  in  those  three  years. 

McNear  looked  across  at  Miss  Howard.  She  was 
the  only  one  who  had  ever  held  him  down  to  any- 

[134] 


thing,  but  then,  her  regime  had  only  begun  with  the 
last  spring  semester.  There  had  followed  an  inter 
mittent  summer  correspondence,  to  hold  the  loose 
ends  of  their  chumminess  together,  and  then  he  had 
come  back  to  these  fall  days  of  drudgery  on  the  foot 
ball  squad,  with  Frances  a  faithful  task-master  on 
the  bleachers.  Three  years  McNear  had  fought  it 
out  on  the  second  team,  and  three  years  his  care 
free,  procrastinating  attitude  had  seen  him  beaten 
by  a  man  who  was  better  than  he — a  deciding  degree 
better.  But  he  had  his  hand  on  it  for  a  certainty 
this  season.  Frances's  uncompromising  severity  had 
driven  him  to  a  faithfulness  and  interest  in  practice 
that  Stuart,  the  coach,  had  never  believed  him  capa 
ble  of.  Besides,  with  Billy  Duncan  the  only  other 
man  playing  him  for  the  position,  the  odds  were  all 
in  his  favour.  Duncan's  handicap  this  season  was 
threefold,  a  drain  on  his  time  through  instructing  in 
Chemistry,  the  expenditure  of  four  good  hours  a 
day  waiting  upon  table  at  Madrona,  and  perhaps, 
most  taxing  of  all,  his  struggle  to  keep  up  with  the 
requirements  of  the  Scholarship  Committee.  There 
was  a  far-away  look  in  McNear's  eyes  as  he  gazed 
musingly  at  Miss  Howard.  He  wondered  if  she 
realized  that  he  was  hazarding  all  that  those  two 
months  of  unprecedented  faithfulness  promised  him. 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Four  days  from  now  and  Frances  would  be  gone! 
After  all,  it  was  only  a  very  little  risk  he  was  taking 
— he  was  almost  ashamed  to  have  thought  of  it. 
His  absence  at  the  training  table  was  being  ac 
counted  for  even  now  by  one  of  the  fellows,  while 
he  and  Frances  sat  there  fifteen  miles  away  from 
the  Campus.  And  he  would  be  back  for  the  last 
practice  at  4:30! 

Miss  Howard,  who  had  been  watching  McNear 
intently  for  the  last  few  minutes,  pushed  her  chair 
from  the  table  and  walked  to  the  door. 

"Come  out  on  the  porch  when  you  have  finished 
your  brown  study,"  she  called  to  him  banteringly 
over  her  shoulder,  "and  I'll  try  to  be  more  enter 
taining." 

McNear  collected  himself  with  a  start,  thrust  the 
last  vestige  of  maudlin  self-reproach  in  the  back 
ground  and  followed  her. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  low  bench  that  runs  the 
length  of  the  porch,  and  the  overgrown  Spaniel  pup 
from  the  stable  sprawled  at  her  feet,  pulling  play 
fully  at  her  shoe  laces.  Miss  Howard  laughed  as 
she  rolled  him  over  with  one  foot.  "First  time  I 
met  him,"  she  said,  "he  was  a  little  bit  of  a  fellow, 
and  he  had  followed  us  half-way  down  the  mountain 
before  we  discovered  him.  We  were  going  home  by 


DEDICATE  ?()  PLATO 

the  ridge  road,"  she  explained,  "and  after  we  got 
down  in  the  valley  poor  Mr.  Duncan  had  to  bring 
the  little  beast  all  the  way  back  to  Tripp's.  Of 
course  we  were  late  for  dinner,  and  in  Mr.  Duncan's 
case  an  explanation  was  embarrassing.  'Queening' 
from  a  woman-hater  would  have  been  fatal,  and  'the 
restoration  of  a  lost  dog' — that  he  would  never  have 
lived  down." 

McNear,  who  did  not  like  the  man,  showed  it 
plainly  in  his  face  as  he  ventured  disagreeably, 
"Rather  marked  attention,  isn't  it,  when  a  chronic 
woman-hater  gets  to  queening"?  " 

Miss  Howard  smiled.  "Not  at  all,"  she  corrected 
him,  "just  the  best  vindication  in  the  world  of 
despised  old  Plato.  He's  a  good  disciple — Billy." 

McNear  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a  way  that  was 
meant  to  imply  a  lack  of  interest  or  skepticism,  Miss 
Howard  could  not  tell  which.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
he  had  a  prejudice  against  Duncan  as  deep-rooted  as 
it  was  unreasonable,  which  harked  back  to  some 
trivial  difference  of  their  Sophomore  days.  His 
knowledge  of  Miss  Howard's  friendship  for  the  man 
had  fanned  a  dislike  into  something  like  real  enmity. 
Not  the  least  part  of  his  satisfaction  over  his  football 
prospects  lay  in  the  fact  that  it  was  Duncan  whom 
he  had  outclassed  for  the  place. 

[  137] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

The  shrug  of  the  shoulders  was  lost  on  Miss  How 
ard,  who  was  looking  out  over  the  porch  railing  at 
the  distant  water.  She  had  started  a  topic  of  con 
versation  that  interested  her,  and  she  evidently 
meant  to  continue  it. 

"That  was  one  of  the  best  days  I  ever  had  in  col 
lege,"  she  murmured  dreamily.  "Did  you  ever  go 
home  that  way"?  Not  many  people  know  about  it — 
sort  of  a  discovery  of  Billy's,  I  imagine.  You  start 
out  the  ridge  toward  the  caves  and  then  turn  back 
and  strike  a  private  road  that  winds  in  and  out  down 
the  mountain.  I  wish  we  could  go  home  that  way ! 
It's  really  shorter,  and  I  think  I  could  find  the  road." 

McNear  reminded  her  abruptly  that  he  was  due 
back  at  practice  at  4 130,  and  it  would  be  taking  too 
great  a  risk. 

"Oh!  of  course,"  Miss  Howard  agreed,  "it  would 
be  a  risk.  And  besides,"  she  added  whimsically, 
"I  should  like  to  leave  that  drive  isolated  just  as 
it  is — marked,  'Dedicate  to  Plato,'  say,  and  stowed 
away  among  life's  proud  reminiscences.  It's  good  to 
have  them  to  haul  out  now  and  then,  you  know, 
when  one's  self-esteem  needs  a  tonic." 

"You  have  had  too  much  popularity  to  be  im 
pressed  by  the  conquest  of  a  man  merely  because  he 

[138] 


DEDICATE   °rO   PLATO 

is  a  conquest,  Frances."     There  was  an  impatient 
note  in  McNear's  voice  and  some  chagrin. 

"Now  you  know  it  isn't  that,"  she  protested. 
"You  don't  realize  what  he  has  done — all  alone, 
too."  McNear  looked  up  at  her  suspiciously,  but  her 
expression  was  disarming.  "I  didn't  know  about  it 
myself,"  she  went  on,  "until  Sue  and  Miss  Williams 
came  out  from  Texas  last  fall.  When  they  walked 
into  the  dining-room  at  luncheon  and  saw  Billy 
there,  they  couldn't  believe  their  eyes  and  he,  poor 
fellow,  was  fussed  to  death.  Then  they  told  me  the 
whole  thing.  Mr.  Duncan,  Sr.,  doesn't  believe  in  the 
indispensability  of  a  university  career,  and  when 
Billy  came  home  to  Texas  from  Prep  school,  his 
father  wanted  to  put  him  out  on  the  range.  Billy 
balked,  picked  up  and  came  West  to  make  his  own 
way  through  college.  It  was  a  pretty  gritty  thing 
to  be  doing,  and  emotional  Sue  almost  shed  tears 
over  him,  then  and  there,  in  her  admiration  for  his 
'noble  spirit.'  I  think  it  was  because  I  saved  him  a 
scene  that  he  has  favoured  me  ever  since.  Of  course, 
his  heroic  conduct  was  reported  with  side-lights  and 
embellishments  when  Sue  and  Miss  Williams  got 
back,  and  Mr.  Duncan  rose  to  the  occasion  finely. 
Billy  was  put  on  an  allowance  and  urged  to  come 
home  for  the  next  holidays.  He  sent  back  the 

[  139] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

allowance  and  wrote  that  he  could  not  afford  a  trip 
home.  Then  he  stayed  on  and  worked  it  out  to  his 
own  satisfaction.  By  that  time  he  had  been  made 
an  assistant  in  the  Lab,  and  he  was  saving  enough, 
well,  to  take  me  driving  now  and  then,"  she  finished 
laughingly. 

McNear  was  interested  in  spite  of  himself.  The 
fact  that  he  had  outplayed  Duncan  for  his  position 
did  not  give  him  as  much  satisfaction  as  before.  And 
Duncan,  fighting  all  that,  had  made  the  team  twice 
already,  while  he — but  that  was  before  Frances 
Howard  got  him  down  to  business. 

"I  don't  see  why  he  didn't  choose  something  else 
besides  waiting  on  table  for  a  lot  of  girls.  He's 
clever  enough  to  hold  down  three  or  four  jobs  in  the 
assistant  line."  McNear,  inquiring  curiously  into 
the  mental  processes  whereby  a  woman-hater  chose  a 
girls'  dormitory  table  as  the  scene  of  his  daily  strug 
gle  for  existence,  was  unconscious  of  the  commen 
dation  in  his  voice. 

"Oh,  that's  the  zest  of  it  all,"  she  cried,  "the 
human  interest.  Madrona  dining-room's  full  of  it; 
Billy  declares  it's  his  only  diversion  in  life.  He 
can  look  on  from  a  distance,  as  it  were,  and  make  a 
general  survey  of  the  genus  femmeum." 

"He  doesn't  seem  satisfied  with  that,"  McNear 

[  HO] 


DEDICATE   TO  PLATO 

observed  shortly,  in  a  tone  which  carried  the  caustic 
inference  that  particularizing  in  Miss  Howard's 
direction  was  stepping  on  some  one's  else  preserves. 

Miss  Howard  ignored  the  inference  and  went  on 
enthusiastically.  "He  quite  thawed  out  the  day  we 
drove  home  by  the  caves."  She  was  looking  out  in 
a  reminiscent  way  along  the  narrow  trail,  just  wide 
enough  for  a  rig,  which  starts  up  the  steep  hill  at 
the  side  of  the  barn.  "Usually  he  is  so  utterly  im 
personal  and — far  off,"  she  volunteered.  "Even  a 
very  little  confidence  seems  a  great  deal — and  well, 
it  makes  me  proud  that  he  approves  of  me."  There 
was  a  frank  note  of  pleasure  in  her  voice  as  she 
finished. 

McNear,  glancing  critically  at  her  face,  pulled 
out  his  watch.  "Two  o'clock,"  he  said  shortly, 
"and  if  we  are  going  home  by  the  ridge  road,  we'd 
better  be  starting.  I'll  see  to  the  horses  now." 

'Oh,  I  though  you  were  afraid  it  might  be  ven 
turesome  !  And  besides,  I'm  not  sure  that  I  care  to 
go  that  way  either."  But  there  was  an  amused  smile 
in  her  eyes  as  she  watched  him  stomp  over  to  the 
stable  to  help  harness  the  pintos.  And  she  had  kept 
the  conversation  off  herself! 

The  pursuit  of  fire-trails  and  short  cuts  that  were 
to  lead  to  the  beaten  road  had  become  devious  and 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

bewildering.  McNear,  fortified  with  an  unquestion 
ing  faith,  bred  of  the  conviction  that  Miss  Howard, 
having  covered  the  ground  before  under  such  mem 
orable  circumstances,  was  a  competent  guide,  scraped 
the  newly  painted  runabout  through  impossible 
places  and  drove  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  woods. 

"There  ought  to  be  little  white  bits  of  cloth  tied 
to  the  trees  here  and  there.  There  were  when  Mr. 
Duncan  and " 

McNear,  with  exaggerated  interest,  broke  in  to 
assure  her  that  the  storms  last  winter  had  been  un 
usually  severe  and  any  landmarks  would  have  surely 
been  swept  away. 

Then  the  uneven  trail  they  were  threading  dipped 
down  precipitously  onto  a  wide,  well-made  road, 
and  Miss  Howard,  who  had  judiciously  climbed 
out  while  the  last  alarming  bit  of  the  descent  was 
made,  running  along  eagerly  to  the  nearest  turn, 
proclaimed  it  the  very  road  of  delectation  which 
she  had  traveled  before. 

With  a  movement  of  restrained  impatience,  her 
companion  pulled  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it. 
"It  is  three-thirty,"  he  said  simply.  "I  hope  you  are 
right."  There  was  a  grieved  look  on  Miss  Howard's 
face  as  she  took  her  seat  in  the  rig  again,  but  she 
said  nothing. 


DEDICATE   TO  PLATO 

In  and  out  around  endless  mountain  turns  they 
wound.  "Seems  to  me  we're  on  the  wrong  side  of 
the  range,"  McNear  ventured  once  nervously,  as  a 
clearing  at  a  horse-shoe  opened  up  an  unfamiliar 
area  of  field  and  farmhouse  in  the  valley  below. 
"We  ought  to  be  getting  down  quicker  than  this,  too. 
It's  a  pretty  short  descent  on  the  east  side." 

Miss  Howard,  looking  about  her,  felt  a  vague 
uneasiness,  but  she  said  aloud,  "I  think  the  road  does 
wind  in  and  out  on  the  ocean  side  quite  a  way  and 
then  goes  through  a  gap  or  something  to  the  other 
side." 

The  man  could  not  resist  a  smile  of  amusement  at 
the  indefiniteness  of  the  remark  as  he  muttered  some 
thing  about  being  "a  duffer  of  a  woodsman  any 
how,"  and  "no  doubt  she  was  quite  right."  With  a 
side  glance  at  McNear,  Miss  Howard  settled  her 
self  back  more  comfortably  in  the  seat.  When  he 
smiled  like  that  she  was  content  to  have  the  road 
wind  on  indefinitely.  He  was  a  "ne'er  do  weel"  to 
a  degree,  to  be  sure;  that  is,  he  would  have  been  if 
she  had  not  taken  him  in  hand.  And  yet  all  the 
things  she  liked  best  in  him  were  inherent.  She  was 
not  detracting  from  his  glory — she  was  simply  hold 
ing  him  up  to  his  best. 

[143] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Suddenly  McNear  brought  the  horses  to  a  stop. 
"My  Lord,  Frances,  look  at  that!"  he  cried  excitedly 
standing  up  in  the  rig.  Miss  Howard  gazed  be 
wildered  at  the  white  sign-post,  its  letters  blurring 
before  her  in  the  early  dusk,  "To  the  Coast.  Pes- 
cadero,  8  miles." 

The  expression  on  McNear' s  face  restrained  the 
commonplaces  of  self-blame  that  rose  to  the  girl's 
lips. 

"Lord,  girl !  I've  lost  the  team,"  he  said  brokenly, 
"lost  it — the  last  chance — and  it's  gone." 

"What  do  you  mean1?  You  can  explain.  I'll  tell 
Mr.  Stuart  myself  that  we  got  lost  in  the  hills  and 
couldn't  get  back." 

There  was  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  McNear's 
laugh,  until  he  caught  the  distressed  flush  in  the 
girl's  cheeks  and  the  threatening  tears.  She  had 
spoiled  his  Senior  year  for  him  and  she  knew  it. 

The  importance  of  a  last  Varsity  practice  going  on 
thirty  miles  or  more  away,  down  in  the  football  - 
mad,  excited  country  of  the  cardinal,  meant  nothing 
to  him  for  the  moment.  He  was  sitting  beside 
Frances  Howard  with  that  formidable  road-sign 
staring  him  mockingly  in  the  face,  and  he  was  telling 
her  plainly,  more  plainly  perhaps  than  he  had 

[  144] 


DEDICATE   fO  PLA?0 

thought  he  dared  before  she  left,  just  why  he  had 
taken  the  risk. 

And  Frances,  weeping  softly,  protested  that  she 
was  not  certain  of  herself  at  all,  and  he  must  say 
nothing  more.  She  had  been  warding  off  just  such 
a  scene  as  this  for  the  last  month,  and  now  she  had 
unwittingly  brought  it  down  on  herself  at  a  crucial 
moment,  with  all  the  influence  of  sympathy  and 
self-reproach  to  make  it  harder.  She  would  write 
him  from  home  and  no,  there  was  no  ofte  else.  This 
was  all  that  McNear  could  get  from  her,  and  he  had 
to  be  content. 

An  eight-mile  drive  to  Pescadero  and  they  were 
started  back  safely  along  a  well-travelled  county 
road,  with  McNear  urging  the  pintos  to  their  limit. 
The  air  was  getting  chill,  and  Miss  Howard's  wraps 
were  light.  He  took  off  his  jersey  and  gave  it  to  her, 

"I  wanted  to  give  you  one  with  an  'S,'  "  he  said 
gloomily  as  he  put  it  around  her  shoulders.  He 
could  have  bitten  his  tongue  off  the  next  moment 
for  the  remark.  "Frances,  you  know  I  wouldn't  care 

about  a  thousand  'S'  's  if  only "  but  the  girl 

stopped  him,  and  a  moody  silence  settled  down  on 
them. 

Mile  after  mile  they  drove  along  through  the  chill 
night  air,  over  the  summit  of  the  last  ridge  between 

[•45] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

the  coast  and  the  valley,  down  along  the  lake  drive 
and  on  past  Woodside.  The  road  was  as  bright  as 
day  in  the  moonlight. 

"Do  you  know  what's  happening  now  at  the 
Rally?  "  McNear  pulled  out  his  watch.  "Eight- 
thirty,"  he  commented.  The  band  is  playing  'Old 
Colonial.'  Encina's  coming  in!  Gee!  can't  you 
imagine  it  all  ?  Here  comes  the  team !  Everybody 
on  their  feet  and  the  yell  leaders  are  keeping  them 
cheering  like  mad.  Stuart  and  Powers  and,  yes, 
Duncan,  of  course."  McNear  had  himself  well  in 
control.  There  was  an  absence  of  bitterness  in  his 
voice  that  made  it  almost  pathetic.  "And  Duncan 
deserves  it,"  he  added  slowly,  as  if  to  convince  him 
self. 

Miss  Howard's  hand  moved  instinctively  toward 
his,  but  she  held  it  tight  with  her  other  one  under 
the  lap-robe. 

"Stuart's  giving  them  a  little  spiel,"  he  went  on 
musingly.  "  'Fighting  chance — nothing  more.'  And 
there's  Dad,  telling  the  crowd  that  the  team's  in  as 
good  condition  as  any  that's  ever  gone  out.  And. 
say,  Frances,  who's  this? — 'Once  there  was  a  little 
girl  and  a  little  boy.  The  little  girl  wore  a  red  hair- 
ribbon  and '  "  Miss  Howard,  mustering  a  faint 

smile,  protested  that  she  never  could  guess. 


DEDICATE   TO  PLATO 

"Now  we'll  have  Professor  Roberts  and  his  per 
ennial  chaff  to  the  galleries,  and  who " 

"Look !  Look !  "  Miss  Howard  was  pointing  off 
excitedly  to  the  south,  where  the  lights  of  red  fire 
made  a  glowing  halo  over  a  group  of  low,  stone 
buildings.  "It's  the  fire  in  the  Inner  Quad  and  the 
serpentine." 

McNear  whistled  bravely  through  a  few  bars  of 
an  air  that  every  Stanford  man  links  inseparably 
with  football  and  the  serpentine. 

"Oh,  hurry,  hurry,"  the  girl  urged;  "we  must  see 
the  end  of  it." 

Down  the  unlighted  Row,  past  the  deserted  fra 
ternity  houses — on,  past  the  post-office,  and  McNear 
pulled  up  under  the  oaks  near  the  Inn.  He  tied  the 
horses,  and  went  in  to  telephone  to  the  stable,  while 
Miss  Howard,  walking  over  to  the  Quad,  stamped 
up  and  down  in  an  effort  to  get  warm.  She  was  stiff 
and  lame  from  the  long  drive,  and  the  sharp  air  had 
made  her  terribly  cold. 

The  red  fire  of  the  Inner  Quad  had  burned  itself 
out,  and  people  were  pouring  over  to  the  old  base 
ball  field.  An  endless  procession  of  Stanford  rooters 
swung  madly  through  the  long  arcades,  while  the 
band  played  feverishly  before.  Staid  Campus  and 
Palo  Alto-ites,  who  had  elbowed  each  other  impa- 

[147] 


NOf  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

tiently  for  a  better  place  to  see,  came  off  the  Quad 
linked  arm  in  arm  in  the  mad  serpentine. 

Miss  Howard  was  thinking  with  a  sense  of  bitter 
ness  how  different  it  might  all  have  been.  There 
was  a  trying  bit  of  irony  in  the  fact  that  it  was  she 
who  had  kept  Jim  McNear  up  to  his  duty — until 
the  eleventh  hour.  And  then,  looking  up,  she  saw 
Duncan  with  a  bunch  of  football  men,  slipping 
quietly  along  behind  the  rooters  in  an  effort  to  be 
inconspicuous.  The  girl  stepped  back  into  the 
shadow  of  a  pillar.  She  felt  strangely  out  of  place 
there,  standing  off  as  she  did  from  the  enthusiasm  of 
it  all.  But  Duncan  had  seen  her.  He  stopped  as 
the  other  men  went  on. 

"Get  separated  from  the  rest?  "  he  queried.  "I 
saw  a  lot  of  them  hurrying  along  after  the  band. 
Looked  as  if  they'd  like  to  serpentine  themselves," 
Duncan  smiled  with  amusement. 

"No,  I  didn't  come  with  the  girls."  Miss  How 
ard  got  the  words  out  jerkily.  She  was  wondering 
what  she  should  say  next. 

"What  did  you  think  of  the  Rally?"  Duncan 
was  asking  her.  "Rousing,  wasn't  it?" 

"I  didn't  see  it,"  Miss  Howard  confessed  awk 
wardly.  The  blushing  confusion  on  her  face  was 


DEDICATE   TO  PLA^O 

condemning  as  McNear  came  across  the  road  a  mo 
ment  later  and  ran  up  the  steps. 

"Sorry  to  have  kept  you,"  he  started  apologeti 
cally.  Then  he  stopped.  It  was  evident  to  Miss 
Howard  in  the  uncomfortable  pause  that  followed 
how  thoroughly  McNear's  dislike  was  reciprocated. 
And  Duncan  was  visibly  embarrassed. 

"Where  have  you  been  keeping  yourself,  Mc 
Near'?  "  he  asked  quietly.  "Had  an  accident4? " 
There  was  understanding  in  his  face  as  he  glanced 
inquiringly  from  the  man  to  the  girl. 

"Yes,  sort  of,"  was  McNear's  non-committal 
reply. 

"It's  beastly  luck  on  you,  McNear.  Stuart's  put 
me  in,  you  know.  But " 

"Of  course!  "  McNear's  tone  as  he  broke  in  on 
the  other  man  was  intended  to  imply  a  conclusion  of 
the  conversation. 

Duncan,  turning  on  his  heel  to  go,  looked  over  at 
Miss  Howard.  Then  he  said  simply,  "I'm  mighty 
sorry,  McNear.  Your  work  has  put  it  over  me  all 
season.  No  one  knows  that  better  than  I." 

McNear  took  it  as  the  conventional  commonplace 
which  the  occasion  demanded.  He  even  suspected  a 
mocking  note  in  the  other  man's  generosity. 

"It's  my  own  doing,"  he  said  bluntly.    There  was 

[  H9] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

a  dogged  expression  in  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and 
he  regarded  Duncan  caustically. 

Miss  Howard  looked  uncomfortably  from  one  to 
the  other.  "You  know  that  it's  my  fault  entirely," 
she  said  brokenly  as  she  turned  to  McNear.  "I'll 
never  forgive  myself,  never " 

"Nonsense,  Frances!"  McNear's  voice  was  al 
most  harsh.  He  could  not  tolerate  a  scene  there  be 
fore  Duncan. 

"Well,  you'd  better  agree  on  the  culprit  tomor 
row."  Duncan  laughed  forcedly,  as,  taking  his  clue, 
he  half  turned  to  go.  "Rather  raw  night  for  a  hospi 
tal  subject,  isn't  it?  " 

Miss  Howard  retorted  to  the  challenge  with  an 
attempted  lightness.  Down  the  long  arcade  she 
watched  his  tall,  alert  figure  as  he  hurried  after  the 
other  men.  Duncan  was  one  of  those  men  who  stand 
out  any  place.  And  he  had  held  the  mastery  of 
every  situation  she  had  ever  seen  him  in.  She  was 
annoyed  with  Jim  for  the  childishness  he  had 
shown.  What  could  Duncan  think  of  him?  She 
understood,  of  course — she  even,  with  the  inconsist 
ency  of  woman,  found  him  more  attractive  because 
of  it.  But  the  situation  had  certainly  been  humili 


ating. 


Over  on  the  old  baseball  diamond  the  Berkeley 


DEDICATE   °TO  PLATO 

effigy  burned  merrily  over  a  rousing  bonfire.  Women 
and  children  scrambled  for  seats  on  the  bleachers  or 
pushed  up  expectantly  to  form  a  circle  about  the  fire. 
If  there  were  any  Stanford  men  who  had  not  joined 
in  the  serpentine,  they  had  vanished  discreetly  and 
shamefacedly  from  sight.  Only  the  men  of  the 
team  were  in  evidence  on  the  outskirts  of  the  circle, 
where  they  stood  about  in  little  groups  awkwardly 
self-conscious,  their  hearts  swelling  with  something 
indefinable  that  was  partly  a  responsibility  to  Stan 
ford  and  partly  a  sense  of  personal  pride. 

McNear  and  the  girl  sauntered  over  and  stood 
quietly  in  the  background.  They  had  a  feeling  that 
they  had  been  away  a  very  long  time.  Chagrin  and 
bitter  disappointment  had  mastered  McNear's  face 
in  spite  of  himself,  and  Miss  Howard's  unhappi- 
ness  so  nearly  bordered  on  tears  that  she  longed  to 
flee.  Besides,  she  was  shivering  cold,  and  the  glow 
from  the  crackling  fire,  which  lit  up  the  lines  of 
students  who  swung  round  and  round  it,  was  tan 
talizing  at  that  distance.  She  had  better  get  home, 
she  thought.  She  was  weak  and  upset. 

"You  may  come  over  and  have  tea  with  me  to 
morrow  afternoon,"  she  said  kindly  as  they  started 
across  the  field  toward  the  Row. 

McNear  was  thinking  of  Stuart  and  the  men  he 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

had  trained  with  all  season.  He  pictured  them  driv 
ing  off  to  Woodside  in  the  morning  for  their  day  of 
rest  in  the  hills — without  him.  He  did  not  realize 
that  he  had  not  answered  the  girl,  and  looked  up 
with  a  start  when  she  asked  suddenly  with  a  more 
insistent  note  in  her  voice,  "You'll  see  Mr.  Stuart 
tonight,  won't  you,  Jim,  to  explain"?  " 

McNear,  although  he  dreaded  the  ordeal  he  was 
to  face,  assured  her  with  disarming  bravado  that  he 
would  run  over  and  find  Stuart  the  moment  he 
left  her. 

"You  may  come  some  time  tomorrow  if  you  like." 
They  had  reached  the  Madrofia  porch,  and  he  stood 
on  the  step  below  her.  She  was  smiling  down  at  him 
sweetly  as  she  offered  her  second  invitation. 

Then,  because  he  was  very  tired  and  disappointed, 
McNear  had  found  himself  again  pleading  a  for 
bidden  subject  in  the  silence  of  the  deserted  porch, 
and  Miss  Howard,  distrusting  her  sympathy,  had 
gone  in  suddenly  and  shut  the  door. 

Down  in  the  same  little  room  off  the  diet-kitchen 
where  she  had  made  her  first  acquaintance  with  the 
Guild,  Miss  Howard  amused  herself  by  watching 
the  nurses  pass  to  and  fro  in  the  halls.  She  had 
been  "shipped  back"  as  a  result  of  the  exposure  of 
her  drive,  and  lay  fretting  over  the  luck  that  had 


DEDICATE   TO  PLATO 

kept  her  shut  in  during  these  last  two  days  which  she 
had  meant  to  spend  with  McNear. 

The  violets  he  had  sent  her  that  morning  with  his 
note  were  on  the  table  beside  her.  She  pulled  the 
glass  over  to  her  and  smelled  them  perfunctorily. 
Poor  boy,  he  was  very  unhappy !  Even  the  fact  that 
Stuart,  relenting,  had  put  him  in  as  a  sub,  did  not 
seem  to  console  him.  "There  was  no  other  man  for 
the  place,"  he  had  written  her  bitterly.  Only  on  his 
return  from  Woodside  in  the  evening  had  he  learned 
that  she  was  ill  again.  It  was  the  last  drop  in  his 
misery.  If  only  he  could  have  had  her  with  him 
after  the  game  tonight! 

Miss  Howard  closed  her  eyes  wearily.  The  un- 
happiness  of  the  last  few  days  was  exaggerated  in 
her  mind  until  it  seemed  to  reflect  a  miserable  dis 
content  on  even  her  brightest  college  memories. 

The  restless  buzz  and  excitement  that  characterize 
the  day  of  the  big  game  had  penetrated  even  the 
quiet  seclusion  of  the  Guild.  Every  one  who  was  con 
valescent  enough  to  be  up  and  about  had  already 
departed  Campus-ward.  The  vibration  of  unrest  in 
the  air  irritated  Miss  Howard.  She  did  not  want  to 
think  of  the  game.  She  was  devoutly  glad  that  she 
had  been  spared  the  misery  of  watching  it  from  the 


NOf  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

bleachers,  and  the  outcome  did  not  hold  for  her  the 
slightest  interest. 

There  was  a  commotion  in  the  hall.  An  injured 
football  man  had  been  brought  in.  Miss  Howard, 
with  a  curious  lack  of  interest,  watched  him  carried 
past  her  door.  She  found  herself  wondering  bitterly 
why  McNear  could  not  have  had  his  chance,  even  to 
be  brought  in  like  that  on  a  stretcher. 

Then  the  decision  of  the  game  was  being  noised 
about — a  big  Stanford  victory,  with  Berkeley  out 
played  from  the  start.  There  had  been  games  and 
games,  but  Stuart  himself  admitted — never  one  like 
this. 

The  "Daily"  was  out  already  with  a  full  account. 
Miss  Jennings,  her  nurse,  had  brought  it  in  to  her 
with  her  last  medicine,  and  the  girl  had  thanked 
her  with  feigned  enthusiasm.  So  it  was  all  over 
then,  and  Jim  was  having  his  fight  out,  alone. 

Miss  Howard's  eye  ran  automatically  down  the 
columns  of  the  first  page : 

"A  novel  feature  of  display  offered  by  the  Stan 
ford  rooting  section  was  the  lavish  shower  of  con 
fetti  which  cleverly  covered  the  formation  of  the 
block  "S."  As  the  homing  pigeons,  flaunting  the 
glory  of  the  cardinal " 

A  couple  of  noisy  college  men  stomped  by  her 


DEDICATE   TO  PLATO 

door  to  the  ward  in  the  corner,  where  a  bunch  of 
husky  bronchitis  victims  cursed  their  fate  roundly. 
Miss  Howard  looked  up  with  annoyance.  Then 
there  came  the  buzz  of  impatient  voices  asking  a 
dozen  questions  at  once.  The  spectacular  points  of 
the  game  were  being  described  for  them  graphically 
in  voices  that  were  hoarse  from  yelling.  Miss  How 
ard  heard  it  all  as  plainly  as  if  she  had  been  in 
the  room. 

"Gee,  the  minute  he  got  his  hands  on  it,  too !  " 
Some  one  with  a  deep,  hoarse  voice  was  speaking, 
"That  punt  wipes  his  slate  clean  with  Stuart,  all 
right!" 

"You  bet!"  the  other  man  retorted.  "And  he 
was  down  after  it  like  a  shot — passed  old  Powers  as 
if  he  was  hitched.  And  say,  didn't  the  California 
fullback  look  sick  when  he  punted  in  to  touch? 
McNear  knew  we'd  get  them  on  the  throw-in  every 
time." 

Miss  Howard  sat  up  in  bed  with  a  start  and  lis 
tened  deliberately.  She  could  not  be  mistaken. 

"Lucky  devil,  wasn't  he  to  get  in — at  that  stage 
of  the  game,  too!  " 

"Duncan  badly  hurt1?  "  some  one  asked.  "What's 
the  trouble — bum  knee  again?  " 

"No,"     the    hoarse    voice    corrected,     "internal 

[155] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

injuries,  Williams  says.     Must  be  pretty  bad  when 
he  couldn't  stick  it  out  five  minutes  longer." 

"Oh,  well,  with  a  score  like  that  he  could  afford 
to  get  out,  and  besides,  McNear  has  been  the  better 
man  all  season.  There  wasn't  any  risk." 

"Maybe  givin'   McNear  a  chance  for  his  'S,'  ' 
another  speculated. 

"Not  much!  "  There  was  a  loud  guffaw  at  the 
mere  suggestion,  and  the  hoarse  voice  finished  con 
vincingly,  "No  love  lost  there,  I  can  tell  you." 

Miss  Howard  reached  for  the  bell  on  her  table 
and  rang  it  impatiently.  Her  anxiety  over  Mr. 
Duncan  was  the  flaw  in  her  happiness  for  Jim. 

"Tell  me,  Miss  Jennings,"  she  asked  eagerly,  as 
the  nurse  appeared  in  the  doorway,  "was  it  Mr.  Dun 
can  they  brought  in  a  little  while  ago4?  Is  he  badly 
hurt"? "  She  had  followed  up  Miss  Jennings's 
affirmative  with  anxious  interest. 

"He  seems  very  comfortable  just  at  present." 

"Do  you  think  he  could  read  a  note — a  very  little 
one?" 

There  was  a  smile  of  amusement  on  Miss  Jen 
nings's  face  as  she  answered.  "I  think  he  might  be 
able  to.  He  was  roaring  over  one  of  the  old  doctor's 
jokes  when  I  came  out." 

Miss    Howard   looked   puzzled    for    a   moment. 


DEDICATE   TO  PLATO 

Then  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  good-natured  face  in 
the  doorway  and  asked  slowly,  "Just  what  is  the 
matter  with  Mr.  Duncan,  do  you  know?  " 

"Internal  injuries — is  as  definite  as  they  have 
made  it  yet,  I  think,"  Miss  Jennings  replied  with  an 
evasive  unconcern,  as  she  came  over  to  the  bed  and 
put  the  thermometer  in  Miss  Howard's  mouth. 

With  her  brow  puckered  in  perplexed  thought, 
Miss  Howard  was  gazing  straight  ahead  of  her  at 
the  bare  white  wall  at  the  foot  of  her  bed.  A  sus 
picion  as  to  the  seriousness  of  Duncan's  injuries  had 
crossed  her  mind.  She  wondered  if  she  could  justify 
it  to  her  own  satisfaction. 

"You  will  come  back  in  a  few  minutes,  won't 
you  to  take  my  note?  "  she  called  after  Miss  Jen 
nings  as  she  left  the  room. 

She  reviewed  the  situation  from  the  beginning; 
she  was  confident  that  she  had  guessed  the  truth.  It 
added  twofold  to  her  happiness  over  Jim.  She  won 
dered  if  Jim  realized — if  it  made  him  a  little 
ashamed. 

There  were  tears  in  the  girl's  eyes  as  she  watched 
the  nurse  go  down  the  corridor  with  her  note.  The 
thought  of  Duncan's  generosity  moved  her  strangely. 
The  act  itself  she  was  convinced  of,  but  the  why — 
that  was  what  interested  her  most !  It  was  consistent 

['57] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

with  Miss  Howard's  femininity  that  the  final  analy 
sis  she  made  of  the  motive  in  the  situation  was  one 
that  flattered  as  well  as  moved  her.  It  was  an 
analysis  which  she  would  not  have  confided  to  Mc- 
Near.  And  after  all,  in  a  matter  of  motive,  one 
could  only  speculate. 

Miss  Howard  was  biting  meditatively  at  the  end 
of  the  pencil  she  still  held  in  her  hand,  when  the 
nurse  stopped  to  leave  her  Duncan's  answer.  She 
opened  it  quickly  and  read. 

Dear  Miss  Howard, 

Thanks  for  your  kind  inquiries.  My  "internal 
injuries"  might  be  worse.  I  expect  to  be  back  at 
the  Quad  on  Monday. 

You  are  perhaps  pleased  that  McNear  got  to 
play,  and  he  certainly  made  the  most  of  his  chance. 
It  was  very  good  of  you  to  write. 
Sincerely, 

WILLIAM  DUNCAN. 

In  bewildered  uncertainty  Miss  Howard  read  the 
note  over  again.  She  considered  it  speculatively  for 
several  moments.  It  was  a  challenge  to  her  woman's 
intuition!  The  motive  was  not  so  patent  as  she 
had  thought.  Critically,  word  by  word,  she  went 
over  it  again,  and  there  was  nothing  that  gave  a 


DEDICATE   °rO  PLATO 

clew.  She  folded  the  letter  up  impatiently  as  if  it 
tantalized  her  beyond  endurance.  Besides,  why 
should  she  bother  when  she  had  Jim  and  all  the  un 
expected  happiness  of  today4?  With  a  sudden  in 
spiration,  she  picked  up  her  pencil  from  the  table. 
The  baffled  look  in  her  eyes  melted  into  one  of  al 
most  tenderness,  and  a  satisfied  little  smile  played 
about  the  corners  of  her  mouth  as  she  wrote  with 
slow  precision  across  the  back  of  Duncan's  note, 
"Dedicate  to  Plato." 


Rulers  of 


THE    RULERS    OF   THE    REALM 

A  small  group  of  men  stood  on  the  side  steps  of 
the  Quad,  opposite  the  Inn.  It  was  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  before  the  calling  of  Professor  Reed's  popu 
lar  course,  and  the  students  whacked  their  heels, 
gazed  down  the  arcades,  and  indulged  in  laconic  talk, 
as  they  basked  contentedly  in  the  sun. 

"Where's  your  Junior  Plug,  Warrington?"  The 
questioner  tipped  his  own  well-battered  one  rakishly 
on  the  side  of  his  head,  and  ostentatiously  displayed 
his  lately  acquired  corduroys.  He  was  looking  up 
at  a  slender  fellow,  who  stood  with  his  flat  hat  well 
pulled  down  over  his  eyes. 

"Half  Junior,  half  Soph,  Dunne,"  the  other  re 
plied,  with  no  show  of  interest,  as  he  jotted  down 
something  on  a  slip  of  paper. 

"Flunked  your  class,  eh*?"  Dunne  asked,  with  a 
yawn.  "Writing  another  scandal?"  No  reply 
vouchsafed,  he  continued  unperturbed.  "A  fierce 
drag,  that  newspaper  work — keeps  a  fellow  chasing 
the  mazuma — don't  see  why  you  play  city  cor 
respondent,  Warrington,  when  the  Governor  coughs 
up  the  carfare." 


NOT:  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

"Aw,  cut  it  out,  Dunne!"  groaned  another, 
"you've  just  made  the  staff  of  the  'S'quoia'  yourself." 

Dunne  affected  a  wry  face.  "By  golly,  Jim,  I 
didn't  want  it.  The  fellows  in  the  house  boosted — " 
He  dropped  the  subject,  upon  noticing  that  Jim's 
interest  seemed  centered  on  the  toe  of  his  modish 
shoe. 

The  day,  and  the  enchanting  laziness  of  the 
weather,  fitted  in  well  with  the  temporary  lull  in 
undergraduate  affairs.  Intercollegiate  events  had 
not  reached  the  point  for  desperate  intensity  of  feel 
ing,  the  editorials  of  the  various  papers  had  been 
mild,  the  faculty  had  been  quite  unobtrusive,  and 
no  exes  were  hanging,  like  the  sword  of  Damocles, 
over  these  men  of  affairs. 

Attention  was  indolent  and  sporadic  until  Dunne, 
with  an  indicative  turn  of  his  thumb,  piped  up: 
"Oh,  wake  up,  fellers.  Look  what's  coming." 
Every  one  craned,  even  McCallister,  who  was 
propped  against  the  pillar.  A  girl,  arm  akimbo  with 
books,  was  mincing  along  in  military  heels. 

"Gee,  she  ought  to  wear  boots,  she  interferes," 
said  Joe  Bailey,  twisting  his  head  to  take  away  the 
ache  resulting  from  an  attempt  to  see  around  an 
obstruction. 

"Begorra,  fellers,"  Shorty  Oliver  fell  naturally 


<THE  RULERS  OF  3HE  REALM 

into  the  dialect,  "but  did  ye  notice  the  soize  of  the 
hat  and  the  mess  o'  chicken  feathers !" 

"I  reckon  she's  going  to  the  city,"  another  drawled. 

"Don't  you  forget  it,  she's  trying  to  make  a  hit 
with  me."  McCallister  swelled  his  chest  and  looked 
important. 

"You're  devilish  impertinent,"  Warrington  spoke 
abruptly. 

"Never  you  mind,  old  fellow,"  the  other  retorted, 
tauntingly,  "we  all  know  about  the  girl  you're  trying 
to  make  a  hit  with.  Gee!  Here  comes  the  scout 
now!" 

Max  Warrington  turned  in  his  nervous  way  to 
catch  the  eye  of  Marion  Hughes,  and  flushed  slightly 
as  he  lifted  his  hat  at  her  smile  of  recognition.  The 
others  bowed  to  the  extent  of  tipping  their  various 
forms  of  headgear  slightly  more  forward.  Dunne 
watched  her  critically  as  she  walked  calmly  around 
the  corner.  There  was  a  certain  poise  in  her  bearing 
that  always  drew  attention  and  admiration.  "She's 
more  than  an  ornament  to  the  staff,  I  reckon." 

"You  bet  she  is!"  The  roof  of  Encina  Hall 
seemed  to  hold  an  attraction  for  McCallister's  nar 
rowed  eyes,  as  he  continued.  "She's  mighty  keen  on 
writing.  I  went  to  High  with  her — she  ran  things 
there — without  seeming  to — one  of  those  people 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

that's  a  wiz  and  popular — has  everything  come  her 
way." 

Dunne,  struck  v/ith  an  inspiration,  straightened 
his  hat  and  sat  up.  "She  can't  follow  that  course 
here,  the  place  is  too  big.  I'll  bet  a  dollar  she's  lay 
ing  wire  for  the  editorship  of  the  'S'quoia.'  The 
way  she's  digging's  proof  enough  for  that." 

The  group  were  all  interested  as  McCal lister's 
hand  came  down  resoundingly  on  Dunne's  back. 
"Got  more  brains  than  I  thought  for,  old  fellow. 
I'll  stand  by  you,  Max,  if  you  get  the  girl  to  run," 
he  added,  jokingly,  with  a  sly  wink  at  the  other  men. 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  it,"  Warrington  answered, 
with  a  quick  look  at  their  unresponsive  faces.  "You 
fellows  are  witnesses  to  the  statement  of  the  said 
Mac,"  he  added  with  a  laugh,  as  he  made  a  sweeping 
gesture  toward  the  unperturbed  McCallister. 

Perhaps  McCallister  would  have  been  more  chary 
of  committing  himself  could  he  have  seen  Warring- 
ton  and  Marion  Hughes  at  the  Lambda  Eta  House 
that  evening.  After  begging  for  two  dances  in  suc 
cession,  Warrington  led  her  to  a  corner  of  the 
canvassed-in  porch,  well  out  of  earshot  of  any  others 
with  a  similar  inclination. 

"It's  unaccountable,  Max,  your  wanting  to  sit  out 
a  dance,"  Marion  said,  smiling  up  at  him,  as  he 

[166] 


RULERS  OF  ?HE  REALM 

placed  a  cushion  for  her.  The  music  was  drifting 
enticingly  through  the  door,  accentuated  by  the 
rhythm  of  feet.  Warrington  only  settled  himself 
back  and  looked  around  contentedly  at  the  attractive 
arrangement  of  rugs,  seats,  and  gay  cushions,  under 
the  dim  glow  of  a  dozen  or  more  Japanese  lanterns. 
"With  thee  beside  me,  wilderness  were  Paradise 
enow,"  he  chanted. 

Marion  laughed  in  the  pleasing  way  that  made 
her  so  attractive,  although  she  did  not  neglect  the 
chance  of  reminding  him,  as  she  tapped  her  foot  on 
the  floor  in  time  to  the  music:  "I  can't  sing,  and 
where  is  the  jug  of  wine  and  loaf  of  bread?  You 
know,  when  I  made  that  trite  remark  about  pre 
ferring  to  dance  rather  than  eat,  you  disagreed  with 
me." 

Finally,  Warrington  drew  himself  together  and 
turned  the  conversation  toward  journalism  until  he 
dared  to  ask,  as  he  scanned  her  face  carefully  for  any 
betraying  change  of  expression :  "Why  do  you  work 
so  hard  with  the  magazine*?  Do  you  think  the  game 
is  worth  the  candle?" 

"I  like  it,"  she  answered,  with  a  frank  look  and 
smile,  "and  I  am  probably  more  willing  or  prompt 
with  stories,  so  I  have  a  good  deal  shoved  on  to  me. 
Why?' 

[167] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

"Well,"  he  hesitated  for  an  instant,  "there  is  a 
rumour  going  around  here  that  you're  striking  for 
the  editorship  next  year." 

"The  editorship !"  she  exclaimed.  "I  aim  for  the 
editorship !  It  would  be  pure  foolhardiness." 

"Why  not?'  he  asked,  calmly. 

"  'Why  is  the  sea  not  boiling  hot,  and  why  don't 
pigs  have  wings'  *?  "  she  answered,  in  a  lazy  voice, 
her  eyes  following  Elizabeth  and  Sam  Trent,  as  they 
walked  to  the  other  end  of  the  porch. 

"Now,  see  here,  Marion,  I'm  in  earnest." 

"Oh,  well,"  she  replied,  her  mood  changing  from 
lightness  to  the  serious,  "my  career  has  not  been  at 
all  remarkable — just  a  matter  of  hard  work.  There's 
no  use  in  a  girl  trying,  anyway — there  would  be  such 
a  horrible  sentiment  against  her  among  the  men. 
Besides,  look  at  the  last  two  years.  The  election  is 
what  you'd  call  a  slate,  wouldn't  you,  and  who'd 
ever  stand  for  a  girl?  Max,  it's  foolish.  There 
would  be  no  hope,  if  I  did  consider  it." 

"Suppose  there  were  hope1?"  There  was  a  vibra 
tion  of  assurance  in  his  voice  that  made  Marion  look 
at  him  doubtfully. 

"What  do  you  mean1?" 

"Just  this,"  striking  his  palm  for  emphasis,  "you 

[168] 


THE  RULERS   OF  THE  REALM 

are  the  most  capable  person  on  the  staff,  and  every 
body  knows  it,  and  the  men  that  could  run " 

"I'm  afraid  they  would  call  you  an  interested 
party,"  she  interrupted,  lightly. 

"It's  true,  though,"  he  held  out  tenaciously.  "Ask 
Bailey,  Dunne,  McCallister,  and  lots  of  the  men." 

"I  shall  start  out  tomorrow,"  she  said,  laughing, 
"and  test  all  I  happen  to  know.  There's  Mr.  Baker 
at  the  Chemistry  Building — he'd  be  good  for  the  dig 
element,  also  Mr.  Edel,  Zoology  major;  to  say  noth 
ing  of  representatives  from  the  Row,  Encina  and 
Paly.  Whom  do  you  think  I  had  better  talk  to  from 
the  Theta  Phi  Sigma  House1?  Do  you  represent  the 
sentiment  of  the  Hall?' 

"Really,  Marion,"  he  returned,  gravely,  "I  was 
never  more  serious  in  my  life.  Suppose  several  of 
us  felt  so  sure  of  your  chances  that  we  would  offer 
to  stand  by  you — then  what4?" 

"I — I  can't  believe  it,"  she  said,  incredulously. 
"It  would  be  too  great  to  be  true." 

"It's  settled,  then."  Warrington's  voice  was  de 
cisive.  "Let's  finish  out  the  dance." 

Quiet  reigned  in  the  back  room  at  Menlo,  famed 
for  its  name-carved  tables,  the  favourite  roster  of 
generations  of  the  side-step  philosophers  of  the  Quad, 
and  boasting  the  signatures  of  some  who  have  reached 

[169] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

recognition  and  of  many  who  have  gone  only  to  swell 
the  nameless  multitude.  For  years  the  place  has  been 
known  in  annal  and  current  lore  for  the  incubation 
of  weighty  plans  toward  the  betterment  of  the  affairs 
of  the  red-tiled  principality,  as  well  as  for  the  up 
roarious  jollifications  that  desire  to  take  the  Campus 
into  confidence  in  the  homeward,  wee  hours  of  the 
morning.  It  is  rampant  with  politics,  and  is  invari 
ably  chosen  by  these  rulers  of  the  realm  for  the  mak 
ing  of  propositions  that  involve  prolonged  argument 
and  persuasion.  Perhaps  the  countless  reminiscences 
for  the  man  who  has  brought  down  his  hand  with 
the  accompanying  jingle  of  glasses  may  have  some 
thing  to  do  with  its  popularity  on  such  occasions. 

This  sleepy  autumn  afternoon,  however,  some  sur 
prise  was  manifest  when  four  men,  headed  by  War- 
rington,  filed  into  the  back  room.  An  inquiry  con 
cerning  the  unusual  time  for  a  meeting  of  the  Press 
Club,  was  met  by  Bailey  with  a  wink  and  a  motion 
toward  Warrington.  "He's  made  a  strike  of  two 
kopeks  from  the  Governor  today.  Keep  the  fellows 
in  the  front  room,  especially  the  Swede.  He's  a 
human  megaphone,  ain't  it  so,  South  ack*?  " 

"You  bet." 

"Where's  McCallister  gone?"  asked  Chandler, 
looking  around  in  some  surprise. 

[  170] 


RULERS  OF  THE  REALM 

"Had  to  give  us  the  drop — going  queening,"  War- 
rington  answered,  with  a  conscious  sinking  of  his 
spirits  as  he  caught  the  amused  glance  of  Bailey  and 
looked  into  the  cynical  face  of  Southack.  He  was 
beginning  to  feel  that  it  was  a  rash  impulse  that  had 
prompted  his  putting  up  Marion  at  the  suggestion  of 
the  absent  McCallister.  Nevertheless,  seasoned  poli 
tician  that  he  was,  quailing  at  nothing  other  than  the 
committee  on  scholarship,  it  was  with  a  steady  hand 
that  he  raised  his  glass  to  the  pledge  of  "Here's  to 
luck!" 

"Why  in  the  devil,"  he  added  an  instant  later, 
glaring  at  Chandler,  "don't  you  drink4?" 

Chandler  had  whipped  out  his  knife,  and  was  cut 
ting  away  a  name  from  the  table,  with  his  lips  tightly 
compressed.  "It's  a  beastly  shame,  fellows — I'd  like 
to  fix  the  man  who  isn't  decent  enough  to  leave  a 
girl's  name  off  this  table." 

"To  the  moralist,"  Southack  sneered,  holding  up 
his  refilled  glass. 

"He's  right."  Bailey  pushed  down  Southack's 
arm.  "Ever  hear  about  her  trying  to  make  the  Press 
Club — member  ex-loco,  of  course.  Well,  some  dub 
at  the  'Daily'  office  suggested  it  all  in  a  joke,  and, 
will  you  believe  it,  she  took  the  whole  business  as 
gospel  truth.  She  did  some  tall  wire-pulling  with  a 

[171] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

few  of  us,  and  gave  me  thunder  because  she  didn't 
make  it."  The  others  laughed. 

"You  can  bet  Marion  Hughes,  even  though  she 
seems  to  have  ambitions,  wouldn't  do  a  fool  thing 
like  that,"  said  Southack,  with  a  quick  look  at  War- 
rington.  The  latter  made  no  reply. 

Finally  Warrington  felt  that  he  held  the  mood 
and  the  opportunity. 

"Fellows,"  he  began,  leaning  forward  in  the  con 
fidential  manner  of  his,  assumed  on  such  occasions, 
"we've  done  a  lot  of  things  together,  and  you  know 
that  I'm  not  the  man  to  beat  around  matters " 

Bailey  was  impatient.  "Southack  is  the  only  fel 
low  who's  allowed  the  privilege  of  a  preamble 
around  here."  The  latter  grinned  and  saluted 
Bailey,  who  headed  him  off.  "You're  not  so  al 
mighty  dense,  Max,  as  to  think  we  don't  know 
you've  got  a  deal  on  hand." 

"A  dead  man's  hand  or  queens  on  the  roof  at 
least,"  suggested  Southack. 

"They  say  two  aces  and  two  eights  can  never  be 
beat." 

"I'm — well,  I  guess  I'm  drawing  to  a  royal  flush, 
fellows,"  Warrington  said,  hesitatingly,  and  in 
blundering  words  and  an  uncertain  voice  proposed 
the  candidacy  of  Marion  Hughes. 


?HE   RULERS   OF  <?HE  REALM 

There  was  a  dead  silence  around  the  table,  each 
man  thoughtfully  rubbing  the  water-vapour  off  the 
outside  of  his  glass.  Joe  Bailey,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  was  the  first  to  break  it.  "Why  don't  you 
put  up  a  man?" 

"Not  one  of  them  has  got  a  claim."  Warrington 
spoke  with  emphasis. 

"What  about  yourself?"  asked  Chandler  in  his 
slow  voice,  his  face  brightening  at  the  thought  of  a 
solution. 

"Too  much  work  next  year,  eighteen  hours,  city 
correspondent,  and  expect  to  get  the  Associated 
Press."  Warrington  compressed  his  lips  and  Chand 
ler's  face  fell. 

"No,  I  guess  you  can't,"  he  admitted,  reluctantly. 
"The  only  other  man  on  the  staff  who  is  eligible  is 
Herbert  Dunne." 

"Just  made  it,"  Bailey  interrupted.  "He  does 
bum  work.  Besides,  he's  a  hand-me-down — that  San 
Jose  bunch  in  the  Hall  call  him  'Shambly  Dunne.' ' 

"Don't  worry  about  him,"  Warrington  added, 
with  assurance,  "he's  too  indolent  and  doesn't  care 
a  hang  about  the  business." 

"Shorty  Oliver  has  been  scouting  around  me 
lately,"  volunteered  Southack. 

[  173] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

"Why,  he  hasn't  done  a  blooming  thing  on  the 
paper." 

"He's  banking  on  fraternity  pull  and  popularity," 
Bailey  explained. 

"It's  a  cinch  he  has  bigger  chances  than  Dunne. 
Politician  Southy  can  give  you  a  tip  on  that." 
Southack  indicated  himself  with  a  gesture. 

"You  needn't  bother  about  him."  There  was  a 
meaning  look  in  Warrington's  face,  and  Southack. 
with  a  responsive  grin,  raised  his  hand  and  pressed 
his  thumb  down  on  the  table.  "He's  cinched." 

"There  is  no  getting  around  it,"  Warrington  con 
tinued,  earnestly,  "Miss  Hughes  is  the  only  one  with 
a  good  claim — and  there  is  no  denying  she  is  a  good 
deal  more  capable.  I  tell  you,  she'd  get  out  a  live 
magazine — none  of  this  molly-coddle  business — even 
though  she  is  a  woman." 

"Say,"  Bailey  drawled,  as  he  leaned  over  to 
Chandler,  "Dr.  Robinson  might  take  a  few  notes  on 
eloquence  around  here." 

"Wouldn't  need  a  syllabus  sheet  either." 

"Come,  fellows,  this  is  no  josh."  Warrington 
frowned.  "We  newspaper  men  have  got  to  recognize 
a  claim.  We  can't  stand  back  and  let  any  dub  with 
an  ambition  think  he  can  hit  the  high  places  without 
serving  his  apprenticeship  on  the  papers." 

[174] 


THE  RULERS  OF  <?HE  REALM 

"Well,  now  you're  talking."  Bailey  was  appre 
ciative. 

"Suppose  we  don't  come  in  with  you  on  the 
proposition,  what  then4?"  Southack  asked,  with  nar 
rowed  eyes. 

Warrington  straightened.  "McCallister  and  I 
forced  her  into  the  thing,  and,  by  George !  we'll  stand 
by  her,  even  if  we  have  to  fight  the  whole  ki-yi-ing 
push  of  you,  with  the  Bear  Club  clawing.  We'll 
put  up  the  biggest  fight  this  college  has  ever  seen." 

Bailey's  eyes  snapped  with  the  fire  of  battle.  "Put 
it  there,  Warrington,"  he  said,  as  he  extended  his 
hand,  "I'm  not  keen  on  a  girl,  but  by  Sammie,  it 
will  be  a  great  fight,  and  you  can  bet  I'm  there  with 
you!  We'll  show  them  that  the  'S'quoia'  can  kick 
as  well  as  the  'Daily.'  We'll  go  down  in  history,  we 
will." 

"You  caught  in  the  meshes,  too."  Southack 
laughed,  harshly.  "We  might  expect  Warrington 
to  get  tangled,  but  you " 

"Clap  your  wings  and  crow  three  times;  you  think 
you're  too  clever  to  live,  don't  you1?"  Bailey  had 
difficulty  in  turning  his  anger  to  sarcasm,  goaded  as 
he  was  by  Southack's  taunt. 

"Well,  in  all  seriousness,"  the  other  returned, 
mockingly,  "a  girl's  no  business  to  run  for  the  editor- 


ship  of  anything  in  this  college,  trying  to  cut  out 
the  men.  She'd  better  stay  by  the  Y.  W.  work, 
basket-ball,  or  write  a  few  sweet,  wishy-washy  tales 
for  the  'S'quoia.'  I  don't  stand  for  any  of  their 
advanced  notions." 

Chandler,  who  had  listened  for  the  last  few  mo 
ments  without  comment,  turned  in  his  calm  way  to 
Warrington.  "I  don't  approve  of  a  girl  mixing  in 
politics — it's  below  her  dignity — I'm  not  raising  any 
question  about  rights,  understand." 

"She's  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  political 
end  of  the  business — we'll  manage  all  that,"  War 
rington  replied,  hastily.  "All  she's  got  to  do  is  to 
be  popular.  Lord,  I  wouldn't  dare  to  tell  her  the 
way  politics  are  worked  in  this  University,  you'd 
have  her  balk  on  the  start." 

"Politics  by  proxy,  eh*?  That's  your  game,  is 
it?  "  sneered  Southack. 

"Well,"  said  Chandler,  musingly,  "we're  face  to 
face  with  the  alternative  of  claim  or  no  claim.  Miss 
Hughes  seems  exceptional,  and  as  for  Herbert  Dunne 
or  Shorty  Oliver — nothing  doing.  I'll  come  in  with 
you  two,  Warrington." 

Southack  seemed  impressed,  for  Chandler  had  the 
reputation  of  a  conservative  as  Bailey  that  of  a 
radical. 

[176] 


RULERS   OF  THE  REALM 

"Good  Heavens,  Southack,"  Warrington  brought 
his  fist  down  on  the  table,  his  patience  at  an  end, 
"you're  not  going  to  stand  for  Dunne!  Don't  you 
see  we're  up  against  it?  You're  a  man  of  influence, 
and  straddling  the  fence  will  kill  you.  Besides,  don't 
you  forget  that  when  we  three  back  anything,  it 
means  business  and  a  cinch  that  the  odds  will  be  on 
our  side.  You've  had  experience  before — you  know 
what  it  means  to  stand  in  with  us.  Consider  it  in 
this  light — you'll  come  to  the  rest  later  when  the 
fight's  on." 

The  sneer  still  remained  on  Southack's  face,  and 
Warrington  was  turning  over  in  his  mind  the  ad 
visability,  after  what  had  just  been  said,  of  pledging 
him  to  neutrality,  when  Herbert  Dunne  sauntered 
into  the  room. 

"Hello,  fellows,"  he  said,  in  his  assuming  man 
ner,  "been  lookin'  for  your  phizzes  everywhere — 
Row,  Quad,  Library — even  went  to  Paly  and  spotted 
queeners.  Hi,  there,  another  round  —  something 
good  and  cold." 

"Sit  down,  old  man,"  said  Southack,  "what's  on 
your  mind?" 

"I'm  doing  politics,  fellows.  I'm  going  to  run 
for  the  'Squalor,'  "  replied  Dunne.  "The  field's  an 
open  cinch — the  only  person  with  a  claim's  a  girl. 

[  177] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

I  may  have  to  fight  Oliver — he's  got  a  pull.  Gee, 
I'm  in  luck  to  get  hold  of  you  four  together.  Jim 
Brown  says  you  always  hold  together  and  you've  got 
the  say-so  around  here." 

Warrington  looked  at  him  in  well-feigned  as 
tonishment.  "Good  Lord,  Dunne,  I  thought  you 
hated  newspaper  work — you  were  frank  enough 
about  it  the  other  day." 

"So  I  do,"  the  other  answered,  carelessly,  "but 
the  assembled  fratres  have  decreed  otherwise — they 
say  it's  a  cinch  this  year — no  big  man — and  they'll 
work  their  shoe  leather  off  for  me.  Not  so  bad,  this 
posing  business.  I'll  make  a  hit  with  the  girls." 

"What  about  the  magazine*?"  Chandler  asked, 
abruptly. 

"A  good  staff  can  take  care  of  that,"  he  replied, 
screwing  up  his  face,  as  he  ran  his  tongue  over  a 
tightly  rolled  cigarette  and  reached  for  a  match. 
The  other  men  exchanged  glances  and  Warrington 
knew,  from  the  expression  on  his  face,  that  Southack 
was  with  him. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  the  foundation  of  Marion 
Hughes's  political  campaign  was  laid  by  the  four 
most  influential  men  in  newspaper  and  political 
circles. 

When   Warrington   reported   the   results   of   the 

[178] 


THE  RULERS   OF  ?HE  REALM 

Menlo  meeting  to  Marion,  and  observed  the  shocked 
expression  on  her  face,  he  was  rather  taken  aback. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  they  talked  about  me 
in  a  place  like  that4?  Why,  Max!  You  ought  not 
to  have  let  them!" 

Warrington  muttered  something  about  politics 
being  an  excuse  for  almost  anything,  and  Marion 
continued  even  more  aghast.  "Why,  it's  awful! 
I'm  going  to  drop  out  now,  before  I  get  into  any 
more  of  it.  Why  did  you  persuade  me?"  she  asked, 
reproachfully. 

It  was  a  strenuous  half-hour  that  Warrington 
faced,  when  he  undertook  to  explain  the  devious 
methods  and  ethics  of  politics  to  an  unworldly-wise 
girl.  He  finally  half-way  gained  her  to  the  point 
of  view  that  politics  always  had  been  and  always 
would  be  a  game  of  warfare,  with  small  quarter 
shown,  and  must  be  accepted  as  a  necessary  evil  with 
the  gifts  of  a  democracy.  He  glossed  over  the  many 
disagreeable  details  of  a  campaign  and  the  methods 
resorted  to  by  both  sides,  and  continued  to  emphasize 
to  Marion  that  she  must  consider  her  candidacy  as 
purely  impersonal.  So  persuasive  and  logical  was 
he,  that  the  girl  was  finally  able  to  regard  even  the 
meeting  at  Menlo  with  a  calmness  of  mind  that 
surprised  her.  It  was  from  her  confidence  in 

[  179] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Warrington,  however,  and  not  from  any  clear  under 
standing  of  politics  as  explained  by  him,  that  Marion 
accepted  the  facts. 

As  Warrington  was  leaving,  he  stopped  and 
smiled  broadly:  "Chandler,  with  his  cool,  calculating 
head,  believes  me  to  be  the  extreme  of  rashness  and 
hot-headedness — calls  me  the  campaign  fire-eater." 

"Unfeeling  wretch!"  Marion  laughed.  "You're 
a  sphinx  in  comparison  with  most  of  the  men — the 
one  you  call  the  'Swede,'  for  instance.  I  see  him 
exploding  on  some  street  corner  two  or  three  times 
a  day." 

"He's  the  josh  in  politics.  Anyway,  the  noble 
Chandler  insists  on  giving  you  instructions  on  your 
conduct  during  the  campaign.  I  suppose  he'll  insist 
upon  your  being  on  hand  all  the  time  around  here. 
There's  one  thing,  though — you've  got  to  give  me 
two  all-day  drives  next  spring,  election  or  no  elec 
tion." 

Marion  smiled  evasively. 

A  surprise  was  in  store  for  the  men  of  the  realm 
with  the  opening  of  the  spring  semester.  The  editor 
of  the  "Sequoia"  had  flunked,  and  Max  Warrington 
had  been  appointed  temporarily  until  the  special 
election  to  be  held  two  weeks  later.  Special  elec 
tions  almost  always  contain  dramatic  possibilities, 

[180] 


<?HE  RULERS   OF  THE   REALM 

and  excitement  is  as  the  nectar  of  the  gods  to  the 
insatiable  collegian.  It  was  not  until  the  philoso 
phers  of  the  Quad  had  passed  on  their  surmises  to 
other  circles  that  Herbert  Dunne  awoke  to  the  fact 
that  the  college  had  accepted  Marion  Hughes' s  can 
didacy  without  ridicule.  It  was  a  case  where  a 
laugh  would  have  killed,  and  the  Campus  had  for 
gotten  even  to  smile.  He  further  discovered  that 
Shorty  Oliver  had  dropped  out  of  the  fight  and  to 
all  questioning  would  only  respond  with  a  grin  and 
a  slow,  knowing  screw  of  his  eye. 

Dunne  was  soon  informed  of  the  why  and  the 
wherefore.  He  had  deluded  himself  into  believing, 
as  one  of  the  fratres  had  expressed  it,  that  he  held 
the  ball,  well  backed  by  his  fraternity,  and  with  a 
clear  opening  down  the  field  through  the  dis 
organized  forces  of  Oliver.  Instead,  he  found  with 
astonishment  that  he  was  bucking  the  consolidated 
line-up  of  the  four  big  men  in  college,  with  his  only 
chance  a  sensational  run  around  the  end.  He  de 
termined  on  a  dash  for  this,  and,  by  every  means  at 
hand,  he  and  his  followers  threw  themselves  into 
heaping  up  the  bigotry  of  opposition  to  a  woman 
editor. 

"Say,  Dunne,"  Bailey  called  out  from  a  group 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

on  the  road  by  the  French  building,  "you  look  wor 
ried.  What's  the  matter?" 

"Guess  he's  finding  the  fight  no  cinch,"  added 
another  one  to  his  neighbour,  as  he  looked  up. 
Dunne  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  laughed. 

Not  two  hours  later  Bailey,  with  an  anxious  face, 
sought  out  Warrington  at  Joe  Larkin's.  "We're 
up  against  it,  Max,"  he  exclaimed,  disgustedly. 
"Dunne  and  his  bunch  have  been  quietly  knocking 
out  our  talk  about  a  claim — say  the  real  reason  is 
because  you've  got  a  case  on  the  girl.  Gee,  he's 
covered  his  tracks  cleverly.  I'd  like  to  sliver  his  head 
for  him." 

Warrington  drew  in  a  whistling  breath,  and 
frowned  thoughtfully. 

Marion  for  her  part  found  it  no  easy  matter  to 
assume  an  expression  of  unconcern  as  she  walked 
the  Quad,  conscious  of  the  glances  of  the  curious 
and  the  scrutiny  of  the  other  side.  She  had  bravely 
held  to  the  part  outlined  by  Chandler  early  in  the 
previous  semester,  to  be  "nimble  of  sight  and 
speech,"  to  avoid  conversation  on  politics,  and  to 
devote  her  energies  to  becoming  known.  She  talked 
to  people  between  classes,  she  attended  scrupulously 
all  meetings  and  receptions,  and,  above  all,  remem 
bered  after  introductions  to  bow  the  next  day  on  the 

[182] 


THE  RULERS   OF  THE  REALM 

Quad.  It  had  all  been  easy  enough  to  do,  and  even 
exhilarating,  when  no  one  had  suspected  the  motives 
that  prompted  her  in  seeking  popularity.  She  had 
also  quieted  her  conscience  with  the  thought  that 
every  member  of  the  University  should  strive  for  a 
broad  acquaintance.  But  in  this  last  week,  when 
the  college  had  come  to  talk  of  her  candidacy,  she 
found  herself  shrinking  from  the  conspicuousness  of 
her  position,  and  she  could  not  crush  the  feeling  that 
she  was  stamped  with  insincerity  in  the  eyes  of  many 
to  whom  she  bowed  and  smiled. 

"The  ship's  under  full  rig,  nor-norwest  breeze," 
McCallister  cried  cheerily,  as  he  came  up  with 
Marion  two  days  before  the  election.  He  had 
offered,  with  ill-concealed  pleasure,  to  take  War- 
rington's  place  as  ambassador  from  the  four  after 
Bailey  had  made  his  report  at  Joe  Larkin's. 

"That's  good,"  she  replied. 

"We  were  looking  over  the  lists  last  night,"  he 
explained.  "It's  going  to  be  a  pretty  close  run,  but 
you'll  have  the  winnings.  Southack  claims  he  can 
split  the  Hall.  Chandler  says  that  the  Row  will  run 
high  for  Dunne,  as  a  couple  of  sororities  are  against 
you." 

"Margaret  Sears  asked  me  to  tell  you  that  there 
will  be  a  good  majority  in  Roble." 

[183] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

"That  reminds  me,  if  I  don't  see  her,  tell  her  to 
look  out  for  Miss  Jackson  and  that  bunch — Dunne's 
fraternity's  keen  on  the  queening  stunt.  Then  Bailey 
can  handle  San  Jose.  That  makes  things  come  out 
even  and  throws  the  whole  fight  on  Paly.  If  War- 
rington  can't  carry  a  majority  there,  I'll  eat  my  hat." 

Marion  puckered  her  forehead  thoughtfully.  "I 
am  really  terribly  worried." 

"Why,  Heavens !  Marion,  you've  got  it  practically 
cinched!" 

She  turned  her  head  and  weighed  some  thought 
in  her  mind,  while  McCallister  studied  her  profile 
with  an  expression  that  was  far  from  disinterested. 
"I — I  hope  I'm  wrong,"  she  said,  hesitatingly  and 
without  looking  at  him,  "but  I'm  afraid  there  is 
something  the  matter  with  Max  Warrington — he 
acts  as  if  he  were  not  at  all  interested  in  the  cam 
paign.  He  hasn't  been  around  for  a  week  and  a 
half  and  he  avoids  me  on  the  Quad.  I  haven't  once 
been  able  to  get  him  by  phone.  Do  you  think  I 
have  offended  him*?" 

McCallister  looked  uneasy.  He  had  never  men 
tioned  to  her  the  rumours  or  the  details  of  the  cam 
paign  and  did  not  have  the  courage  now  to  tell  the 
truth — that  Warrington  was  trying  to  sidetrack 
Dunne's  invidious  report  of  a  "case." 

[184] 


<?HE  RULERS   OF  THE   REALM 

"Max  is  all  right,"  he  asserted,  with  emphasis. 
"He's  working  like  a  slave  down  in  Paly,  besides 
directing  the  whole  campaign,  and  hasn't  time  for 
anybody  or  anything.  He's  got  the  whole  load  on 
his  back.  You  needn't  worry  about  him." 

"You  don't  know  how  relieved  I  feel."  Marion's 
face  brightened  so  perceptibly  that  McCallister 
could  not  help  noting  it,  with  almost  a  feeling  of 
jealousy. 

"We'll  elect  you  sure,  Marion,"  was  his  admonish 
ing  word  at  parting,  "don't  you  worry." 

"I  won't,"  she  answered,  and  her  expression  did 
not  belie  her. 

That  afternoon,  when  Marion  had  lost  all  her 
doubt  of  Warrington,  she  saw  him  slowly  approach 
ing  the  house.  There  was  something  in  the  stoop  of 
his  shoulders  that  filled  her  with  foreboding.  She 
was  not  kept  long  in  suspense,  however,  for  he  spoke 
with  no  preface,  as  his  nervous  fingers  clutched  the 
chair  into  which  he  had  dropped.  "Marion,  I  have 
just  found  out  that  some  of  our  forces  in  the  Hall 
and  Paly  have  gone  back  on  us.  Dunne's  got  a 
powerful  secret  organization  in  both  places." 

Marion  looked  at  him  helplessly. 

"It  means,"  he  hesitated,  and  continued  with  an 
effort,  "it  means  that  you  will  be  defeated  by  Dunne. 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

We've  always  carried  things  before  this,  but  we 
can't  down  the  opposition  to  a  woman  for  editor  of 
a  college  sheet.  We've  worked  day  and  night  for 
you,  we  brought  all  sorts  of  screws  to  bear,  and 
thought  we  had  the  thing  cinched.  Now  it's  all  up." 
He  made  a  despairing  gesture. 

Marion  was  speechless.  She  felt  bewildered  and 
strangely  forlorn.  A  lump  was  growing  in  her 
throat,  along  with  an  inclination  to  cry  bitterly. 
Instead,  she  threw  her  head  back  in  a  determined 
way,  and  smiled  tremulously  at  Warrington,  who 
looked  down,  unable  to  bear  the  sight  of  the  tears 
that  filled  her  eyes,  and  to  witness  her  manifest 
effort  at  control.  "I  know  that  you  have  done  every 
thing  in  your  power  for  me,  Max.  I  can't  help  being 
terribly  disappointed — but  that  doesn't  matter.  You 
— you  were  mighty  brave  to  come  and  tell  me  the 
truth —  She  became  silent,  afraid  of  her  voice. 

Warrington  was  embarrassed  and  helpless.  It 
was  all  that  he  could  do  to  suppress  his  emotion,  and 
he  dared  say  nothing  to  her  for  fear  of  losing  him 
self.  Marion  appeared  to  gain  self-control  in  pro 
portion  to  his  loss  of  it. 

"Really,  it  can't  be  helped,  Max.  Please  don't 
feel  so  badly  about  it,  for  truly,  I  understand." 

[186] 


THE  RULERS   OF  fHE   REALM 

And  she  was  the  one  doing  the  comforting !  War- 
rington  drew  himself  together  at  the  thought,  looked 
at  her  irresolutely,  and  then  beseechingly.  "Marion, 
don't  misjudge  me  for  what  I'm  going  to  do.  You 
know  I'd  have  given  anything  in  the  world  to  have 
had  you  get  it,  but  it's  absolutely  hopeless — not  a 
loophole  of  a  chance.  We've  only  one  recourse  left,  as 
we  four  can't  let  Dunne  get  it  under  any  conditions. 
You'll  have  to  believe  me,  Marion,  for  you  won't 
understand — it's  all  politics.  So  the  fellows  have 
made  me  promise  to  run.  It's  our  only  hope 
and  I've  got  to  do  it,"  he  added,  digging  his  boot 
miserably  into  the  carpet. 

"Why,  I'm  glad  that  you  can,  though  you'll  have 
to  work  frightfully  hard  with  all  your  other  responsi 
bilities.  I'm  selfish,"  Marion  spoke  in  a  whimsical 
manner,  "and  if  I  can't  have  it,  I'd  rather  see  you 
get  it  than  anybody  else.  I  feel  a  pride  in  that 
magazine.  I — I  made  a  good  many  plans  for  it, 
when" — she  stopped,  her  disappointment  getting  the 
better  of  her. 

"You  can  do  anything  you  want  with  it,"  he  said, 
feelingly. 

"Some  day  you  may  be  sorry  for  promising  that." 
She  made  a  miserable  attempt  at  a  laugh. 

Warrington  picked  up  his  hat  with  deliberation 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

but  turned  back  hesitatingly  at  the  door.  "Marion, 
you're  the  bravest  girl  that  I  ever  knew." 

The  door  closed,  and  Marion,  leaning  against  it, 
sobbed  miserably. 

Warrington  walked  grimly  down  the  Row. 

"What's  your  grouch,  old  man1?"  exclaimed  Mc- 
Callister  a  few  minutes  later,  as  he  met  him  by  the 
book  store.  "What's  happened?" 

"The  game's  all  up  for  Marion  Hughes,"  the  other 
replied,  bitterly,  as  he  explained  in  detail  how  things 
stood.  "Gee,  she  took  the  news  like  a  man.  It 
makes  me  sick — this  running  myself — dog-gone  it,  I 
feel  as  if  I  had  gone  back  on  her  like  the  other  bunch. 
Looks  like  it." 

"Don't  you  mind,  old  fellow."  McCallister's 
voice  was  sympathetic.  "Of  course  you've  got  to 
run,  the  rest  of  us  can't.  You're  in  a  tough  position, 
but  you'll  have  to  stay  by  it.  She  has  no  chance, 
and  we've  got  to  knock  out  Dunne." 

Warrington  was  looking  into  space  and  seemed 
to  be  only  half-hearing  McCallister's  words.  "By 
George,  Mac,"  he  cried,  excitedly,  as  he  suddenly 
turned  on  the  startled  McCallister  and  grasped  his 
shoulder,  shaking  it  for  emphasis,  "I've  got  the  whole 
thing." 

[188] 


RULERS   OF  3  HE  REALM 


"Let  go,  and  make  yourself  intelligible,"  said  Mc- 
Callister.  Whereupon  Warrington,  at  first  incoher 
ently,  then  eloquently,  unfolded  and  enlarged  upon 
the  idea  that  had  at  that  moment  occurred  to  him. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,"  he  ended,  earnestly,  "per 
suade  her  to  stay  in  the  fight,  tell  her  everything." 

"Don't  worry,  old  man,  I'll  fix  it  up,"  the  other 
called  back  as  he  hurried  on,  fully  as  excited  as 
Warrington. 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  McCallister  finally 
found  Marion.  He  had  met  Elizabeth  and  Sam 
Trent  returning  from  a  walk,  and  they  had  reported 
seeing  her  half-way  up  the  pine-topped  hill  on  the 
Mayfield  road.  He  had  wandered  around  French 
man's  lake,  and  viewed  the  hill  from  every  side, 
before  discovering  her  under  the  fringe  of  pines 
looking  toward  the  University.  Though  she  smiled 
bravely  as  he  climbed  up  to  her,  he  could  not 
quell  a  sudden,  unreasoning  resentment  toward 
Warrington. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  that  this  has  happened, 
Marion,"  he  said,  as  he  gained  the  top  of  the  hill, 
"but  it  will  come  out  all  right." 

"I  certainly  hope  so.  Max  deserves  it  if  any  one 
does,  and  I'm  mighty  glad  that  he  can  turn  the  cam 
paign  to  some  effect  after  working  so  hard." 

[189] 


NOT:  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

"I  mean  you."  There  was  a  touch  of  constraint  in 
his  voice. 

"Why?5 

"Marion,"  McCallister  interrupted,  impatiently, 
"you're  not  going  to  drop  out  of  the  fight!" 

Marion  looked  at  him  incredulously.  "Of  course 
I  am.  It's  a  good  thing  that  Max  discovered  the 
way  things  were  going  in  time  to  save  me  from  the 
humiliation  of  being  beaten.  I  hand  in  my  with 
drawal  tonight  to  the  'Daily.'  ' 

McCallister  had  intended  to  explain  matters 
fully.  But  instead,  with  a  slight  curl  of  his  lips,  he 
remarked:  "You  seem  more  exercised  over  War- 
rington's  success  than  over  your  own  disappoint 
ment." 

Marion  flushed,  and  stammered,  evasively,  "Why 
shouldn't  I  be — he's  done  so  much." 

McCallister  turned  and  looked  away  over  the 
hills,  and  his  voice  was  hesitating.  "So  you  are  going 
to  withdraw*?" 

Marion  glanced  at  his  set  face,  and  was  puzzled. 
"Why,  yes.  I  have  said  so  twice." 

McCallister  drew  a  deep  breath  as  he  turned  to 
her.  "Don't  you  think  that  is  unfair  to  me, 
Marion?"  he  asked,  rather  wistfully. 

[  190] 


THE  RULERS  OF  ?HE  REALM 

"What  do  you  mean1?  I  am  sorry  if  I  have 
offended."  Marion  was  completely  nonplussed. 

"Haven't  I  worked  harder  for  you  than  any  of 
the  others  pretended  to — except — well,  haven't  I 
counted  on  your  winning  out  as  if  I  had  been  run 
ning  myself?  What  consideration  do  I  have?" 
There  was  bitterness  in  his  tone.  "Not  one  whit. 
It's  all  for  the  man  who  gets  taken  in  on  a  tale  of 
secret  organizations,  and  won't  believe  a  word  to  the 
contrary,  even  when  driven  in  with  sledge-hammers." 

Marion  gasped.     "I  don't  think  I  understand." 

"It's  just  this,"  he  said,  firmly,  "just  this,  that  I 
can  make  you  win." 

"But  Max  said  there  was  absolutely  no  hope," 
she  remonstrated.  "I  don't  believe  that  he  could  be 
deceived." 

"Ask  Chandler  or  Bailey,  you'll  find  they  agree 
with  me,"  he  said,  almost  brusquely.  McCallister 
always  had  difficulty  in  managing  his  temper. 

Marion  felt  the  implication  of  his  words  and  atti 
tude  and  was  at  a  loss  for  an  evasive  answer.  She 
looked  down  miserably  on  the  red  roofs  of  the  Uni 
versity  buildings,  past  the  big  chimney  and  the  tower 
of  the  Memorial  Church  to  the  mass  of  trees  banked 
against  the  horizon,  hazy  in  the  afternoon  sun.  She 
watched  a  streak  of  smoke  drift  and  spread  over  the 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Arboretum,  as  the  Del  Monte  Express  shrieked  and 
pounded  its  way  down  the  country.  It  reminded  her 
of  the  time  of  day,  and  she  answered  quietly:  "It's 
growing  late,  and  I'm  due  at  the  house." 

"You  have  not  answered  my  question."  Mc- 
Callister  made  no  move  toward  rising  from  the 
ground. 

"I'm  more  grateful  than  I  can  tell — to  you  and 
the  rest — and  I  know  you  are  disappointed,  but — I — 
I  couldn't  run  against  Max — it  wouldn't  be  right 
after  all  he's  done.  You  ought ' 

"There  shouldn't  be  any  sentiment  in  politics," 
he  interrupted,  with  his  narrowed  eyes  fixed  on 
Marion's  face.  "You  can  win."  He  became  more 
gentle.  "Will  you  let  me  prove  it  to  you4?" 

Marion  looked  at  the  ground  helplessly  and  her 
lips  trembled.  Her  voice  was  unsteady  and  re 
luctant,  as  she  answered:  "If — if  you  like." 

On  the  way  home  she  could  not  drive  away  the 
thought  of  what  Warrington's  attitude  toward  her 
would  be.  Would  be  put  her  down  as  insincere, 
double-faced,  and  bitterly  remember  her  last  words 
to  him  on  his  success1?  Yet  she  could  not  have  acted 
otherwise,  cornered,  as  she  had  been,  by  McCallister. 
Worst  of  all,  she  could  not  explain.  Perhaps  he 
would  suspect  the  truth.  Perhaps  he  would  never 

[  192] 


THE   RULERS   OF  THE   REALM 

understand.  An  unbearable  hatred  of  politics  welled 
up  in  her.  She  hoped  that  she  would  meet  defeat. 

McCallister  was  conscious  of  her  mood,  and  in 
wardly  cursed  his  weakness  in  allowing  jealousy  to 
get  the  better  of  him. 

Not  slower  than  the  proverbial  wildfire,  the  word 
had  spread  of  Warrington's  running,  and  varied  were 
the  explanations  offered.  But  nowhere  was  the  new 
candidate  to  be  seen.  There  was  something  mysti 
fying  about  the  matter,  and  all  day  groups  gathered 
on  the  corners  of  the  Quad  and  even  in  the  silent 
precincts  of  the  Library.  Dunne  buttonholed  people 
more  frequently  than  was  his  wont  and  there  was 
a  worried  furrow  on  his  brow.  His  followers 
drooped  for  lack  of  enthusiasm,  but  the  known 
affiliates  of  the  big  four  were  calm  and  silent. 

Marion  went  to  Quad  after  classes  had  been  called 
in  order  to  avoid  the  risk  of  meeting  Warrington. 
She  did  all  her  studying  upstairs  in  a  seminar  room, 
and  told  no  one  of  her  whereabouts. 

The  day  following,  that  of  the  election,  she  re 
mained  at  home.  Dunne  was  the  only  candidate 
who  stood  watching  the  two  long,  wavering  lines 
that  met  at  the  ballot-box,  placed  on  the  portion  of 
the  Quad  opposite  the  Inn.  The  political  forecasters 
were  out  in  full  force,  cumbering  the  steps  and 

[  193] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

blocking  the  road.  Dunne's  lieutenants  and 
Marion's,  with  McCallister  well  in  the  lead,  elec 
tioneered  up  and  down  the  line,  as  it  restlessly 
stamped  and  shuffled  forward.  In  the  confusion 
and  general  bantering,  none  noticed  that  only  those 
opposing  Marion  were  almost  immediately  ap 
proached  by  the  well-posted  aides  of  Warrington. 

"Let  me  give  you  a  tip,"  said  one  of  Dunne's  fol 
lowers,  hurrying  up  to  a  husky  fellow  in  line.  The 
man  lifted  his  foot  with  deliberation  and  put  it  over 
the  "no  electioneering"  line. 

"Warrington's  the  fellow,"  some  one  announced. 

"Aw,  he  didn't  play  fair,"  another  retorted,  and 
farther  down  the  line,  "Marion  Hughes  for  me. 
She's  a  peach." 

"Not  for  me.     Give  us  a  man." 

"All  right,  take  Herbert  Dunne." 

"Sneeze,  kid,  your  face  is  dusty!  Warrington 
for  me." 

Shortly  after  eleven-fifteen,  Southack  dropped 
into  line  back  of  one  of  the  ardent  followers  of 
Dunne. 

"Where's  Warrington?' 

"Gone  to  the  city,"  he  answered,  carelessly,  "de 
cided  he  didn't  care  a  hang  whether  he  won  or  not." 

The  man  dropped  out,   and  it  was  but  a  few 

[  194] 


THE   RULERS   OF  <?HE  REALM 

minutes  before  the  line  was  buzzing  with  the  news 
that  Warrington  had  withdrawn. 

The  furrow  on  Dunne's  brow  became  less  distinct, 
his  followers  took  a  new  lease  on  life,  and  they  saw 
well  to  it  that  Warrington  received  no  further  votes. 

"Go  to,"  one  man  exclaimed,  "he  can't  withdraw 
without  putting  it  in  the  'Daily.'  ' 

"Have  you  read  all  the  notices  this  morning1?" 
Dunne's  follower  bluffed. 

The  rumour  was  accepted  for  the  greater  part  im 
plicitly.  It  was  a  conspicuous  fact  that  no  one  on 
the  other  side  attempted  to  deny  the  report, 
Southack  merely  grinned  at  the  thought  of  the  elec 
tric  effect  of  his  words  on  the  line  as  they  had  been 
transmitted  through  Dunne's  following,  and  winked 
at  Chandler  and  Bailey  each  time  that  they  met 
along  the  arcade. 

It  was  well  on  in  the  afternoon  when  McCallister, 
waving  his  hat  excitedly,  hurried  up  to  the  Lambda 
Eta  house,  and  met  Marion's  anxious  face  at  the  door. 

"We've  won!    We've  won!" 

His  hand  shook,  as  he  thrust  a  crumpled  piece  of 
paper  toward  her. 

"See,  you've  got  448,  Dunne  401,  and  Warring- 
ton  only  363;  he  was  killed  by  the  rumour  boosted 
by  Dunne's  men,  you  know." 

[195] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Marion's  face  paled,  and  her  eyes  looked  pitifully 
large.     Her  voice  became  so  low  that  McCallister 
was  surprised.    "Thank  you  for  coming  up  so  soon— 
I  was  very  anxious  to  hear  the  returns,  and — and  I 
owe  you  a  great  deal  for  all  you've  accomplished 
for  me.    I — I  believe  I  appreciate  what  you  people 
have  done,  a  good  deal  more  than  the  election"- 
every  word  came  out  with  a  conscious  effort. 

McCallister,  with  the  first  elation  of  the  victory 
over,  stood  looking  at  her  hesitatingly.  Then  he 
threw  back  his  shoulders  and  glanced  down  the  Row. 
"Marion,  I  want  to  explain,  I've " 

He  stopped,  disconcerted  by  the  approach  of  War- 
rington,  Bailey,  and  Chandler,  glanced  intently  at 
his  watch,  and  picked  up  his  hat.  "I've  got  to  run 
for  the  5:10  to  the  city.  I  want  to  talk  things  over 
with  you  later.  And  remember,  Marion,  we're  all 
human  and  I  couldn't  help  it." 

She  watched  him  with  a  bewildered  expression 
as  he  hurried  off.  He  saluted  the  men  at  the  turn 
to  the  house,  and  Marion  gasped  when  she  recognized 
Warrington  among  them. 

"Hurrah  for  Miss  Hughes,"  they  cried  exultantly, 
as  they  reached  the  steps. 

Bailey  was  the  first  to  shake  her  hand.  "Con 
gratulations,  Miss  Editor-in-chief  of  the  'Sequoia.'  " 

[196] 


RULERS   OF   ?HE  REALM 

"Miss  and  not  missed,"  she  replied,  with  forced 
gaiety. 

When  Warrington  spoke  to  her  he  noticed  that 
her  hand  trembled,  and  that  the  usual  frankness  of 
her  manner  was  lacking.  He  was  first  astonished, 
and  then  frowningly  puzzled. 

"By  Jove!  this  is  the  man  you  ought  to  thank, 
Miss  Hughes,"  said  Bailey,  seizing  Warrington  by 
the  arm.  "He  has  sacrificed  more  than  all  the  rest 
of  us  put  together." 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  Chandler,  con 
scious  that  something  was  wrong,  added,  "If  War 
rington  hadn't  disputed  Dunne's  territory  with  him, 
you  wouldn't  have  had  a  ghost  of  a  chance.  It  will 
be  the  talk  of  the  college.  Cleverest  game  ever 
played  on  this  community — running  at  the  last 
minute — canvassing  at  the  polls  to  take  Dunne's 
votes — dropping  out  when  you  were  safe,  and  to 
keep  himself  from  being  elected." 

Bailey  laughed.  "I  wish  you  could  see  Dunne, 
Chandler." 

Marion  had  been  looking  from  one  to  the  other  in 
a  dazed  way.  Then  she  turned  impulsively  to  War 
rington.  "Why  didn't  you  tell  me  the  truth  in  the 
first  place1?  What  it  would  have  saved!  I  felt  so 
double-faced  running,  when  you  had  told  me 

[  197] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

"Didn't  McCallister  explain  to  you?  "  demanded 
Warrington,  his  face  flushing  with  anger.  "I  didn't 
think  of  the  scheme  till  after  I  had  left  that  day. 
He  gave  me  his  word  that  he  would  tell  you;  started 
off  to,  in  fact." 

Marion  glanced  at  the  perplexed  faces  of  the  other 
two  men. 

"Queer  of  Mac,"  Bailey  muttered,  "I  can't  see 
his  motive." 

Marion  saw  a  peculiar  smile  come  about  the 
corners  of  Chandler's  mouth,  and  with  a  woman's 
quick  intuition  she  divined  the  real  cause  of  Mc- 
Callister's  conduct.  She  was  charitable  enough  to 
shield  him. 

"Mr.  McCallister  probably  surmised  that  I 
wouldn't  consent  knowingly  to  so  great  a  sacrifice 
as  Max  has  had  to  make  for  me.  And  he  was  right, 
too,"  she  said,  firmly,  glancing  at  Warrington. 

Bailey  seized  the  opportunity  to  sign  to  Chandler. 
"There  are  a  few  explanations  yet  due,"  he  began 
elaborately,  "about  the  misunderstandings  and  all 
that.  But  we've  an  engagement,  Miss  Hughes " 

"So  we  depute  Max  to  take  it  all — another  case 
of  politics  by  proxy."  There  was  the  same  under 
standing  smile  on  Chandler's  face. 

[198] 


EARTHQUAKE  EMERGENCY 

The  room  was  cheap  and  dingy  and  it  had  been 
mercilessly  twisted  out  of  all  regard  to  angles.  The 
battered  sideboard  standing  in  the  corner  at  the 
top  of  the  gentle  slope  of  floor,  its  expansive  shelf  in 
the  utmost  disorder,  looked  stunned  and  staggered, 
as  though  it  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  shock. 
From  its  point  of  elevation,  it  rather  overlooked  the 
several  tables  that  occupied  the  rest  of  the  room. 

Peter,  seated  at  the  nearest  of  these,  saw  through 
a  half -open  door  the  end  of  a  gaudily  decorated  bar, 
and  heard  men  walking  back  and  forth  heavily  and 
talking  loudly.  Between  attempts  to  swallow  some 
horrible  coffee  which  was  set  before  her  in  an  im 
mense  white  cup,  she  took  in  with  fascinated  curi 
osity  the  details  of  the  room.  Yesterday  she  would 
have  thought  it  hardly  proper  to  have  glanced  at 
the  disreputable  roadhouse  as  she  drove  by.  Eliza 
beth,  opposite  her,  was  obviously  annoyed  by  the 
crumbs  on  the  coarse  white  table-cloth,  but  her 
appreciation  of  the  emergency  led  her  to  brush 
them  aside  and  eat  as  well  as  she  could  huge  slices 
of  coarse  white  bread.  She  had  even  reminded  Peter 
of  the  lateness  of  the  breakfast  and  the  necessity  of 

[201] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

eating  something.  Sam,  who  was  responsible  for 
their  having  anything  at  all,  had  drawn  a  handful 
of  penciled  papers  from  his  pocket  and  was  bending 
over  them  making  corrections  and  revisions.  His 
collar  was  turned  up  and  his  hair  unusually  mussed. 
His  lips  puckered  nervously  as  he  worked  and  there 
was  an  excited  tension  about  his  fingers  as  he  cov 
ered  the  papers  with  large  heavy  writing. 

A  woman  with  a  dirty  apron  and  disordered  hair 
shuffled  in,  bringing  ham  and  eggs.  She  had  a  high 
voice  and  a  manner  pretending  to  great  respecta 
bility.  At  the  next  table  some  one  was  feeding  a 
screaming  baby.  Elizabeth  murmured  something 
about  "the  poor  thing,"  but  Sam  did  not  look  up. 
Peter  suspected  that  he  was  rather  disgusted  at  hav 
ing  found  them  on  the  train  at  San  Bruno.  Clearly 
they  should  have  stayed  on  the  campus  with  the  rest 
of  the  mulieres  et  impedimenta, 

Peter  was  not  quite  certain  how  it  had  happened, 
but  once  started  she  knew  that  she  must  keep  on. 
To  stop  was  misery.  At  this  distance  that  horrible 
awakening  at  five-twenty,  even  before  the  alarm 
clock,  which  had  been  set  to  prepare  for  the  Eco 
nomics  quiz  section,  seemed  long  ago.  The  mad  rush 
downstairs,  the  hurrying  to  the  Quad,  the  excitement 
and  the  terrible  ruin,  had  left  an  impression  of  chaos, 

[  202  ] 


EARTHQUAKE  EMERGENCT 

and  for  a  background,  beautiful  green  hills  shining 
in  the  early  morning  light  under  a  clear  blue  sky. 

They  had  piled  into  an  overloaded  bus  for  Palo 
Alto,  laden  with  telegrams.  They  had  discovered 
that  the  wires  were  down — all  communication  was 
cut  off !  Then  had  come  a  long  whistle,  and  a  north 
bound  train  had  pulled  in — the  only  remaining 
bearer  of  news.  People  had  rushed  to  it  for  infor 
mation,  their  minds  grasping  for  comparisons,  for 
in  the  proportion  that  others  had  suffered  could  they 
rate  their  own  loss. 

In  terse  sentences  the  trainman  had  explained 
what  he  knew  of  the  disaster  in  San  Jose. 

"But  nothing  from  the  city,"  he  had  added,  and 
then  Peter  had  been  overwhelmed  with  a  desire  to 
go  up — to  the  center  of  things.  To  be  cut  off  and 
not  to  know  what  had  happened  was  intolerable. 
So,  unreasoning,  she  had  climbed  aboard  and  Eliza 
beth,  overexcited,  had  followed  her.  They  were  go 
ing  to  the  city.  As  they  went  on,  smoothly  enough 
at  first,  the  sky  had  become  clouded,  the  hills  had 
looked  less  reassuring,  and  they  had  sat  almost  ter 
rified.  At  San  Bruno,  the  engine  had  balked  at  the 
wavy  undulations  of  track  spread  before  it,  and 
Elizabeth  leaning  from  the  window,  had  captured 
Sam  Trent,  cram  full  of  copy  for  the  city  papers 

[203] 


NOT  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

and  in  a  tremendous  hurry.  Peter  vaguely  wondered 
at  his  condescension  in  stopping  for  breakfast  at  all, 
for  besides  the  distance  which  they  had  already 
tramped  to  Colma,  there  was  at  least  a  ten-mile  walk 
before  them.  He  had  finished  his  scribbling  and  had 
begun  to  discuss  the  possibilities  of  a  "scoop." 

The  woman  who  had  been  occupied  with  the  baby, 
moved  by  some  mistaken  feeling  of  sympathy  in  the 
disaster,  turned  toward  them  and  in  a  voice  of  almost 
overwhelming  sadness,  began  to  complain  of  the 
ruin.  "It's  awful,"  she  said,  "simply  awful !  " 
Peter  felt  uncomfortable  and  looked  at  her  plate. 
Some  people,  she  thought,  would  talk  about  it  even 
if  it  were  the  end  of  the  world. 

"I  live  up  by  the  cemeteries,"  the  woman  went 
on,  "and  there's  a  volcano  opened  up  there  in  the 
hills,  and  the  graves  is  all  broken  open,  and  the 
corpses  is  all  lying  around !  "  This  statement  being 
met  by  a  cold,  polite  silence,  the  woman  continued, 
"It's  the  truth  I'm  telling  ye,  I  seen  it  with  my  own 
eyes."  Sam  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  uneasy 
annoyance,  and  muttered  something  about  "half- 
shot."  The  woman  advanced  with  a  show  of  injured 
feelings.  "Ye  think  I'm  drunk,  do  ye?  " 

But  the  room  began  to  shake  gently,  windows 
rattled,  dishes  clattered  on  the  old  sideboard.  With 

[204] 


EARTHQUAKE  EMERGENCT 

a  scream  Elizabeth  rushed  for  the  small  back  door, 
Peter  following,  and  Sam  a  close  third.  It  was  over 
as  soon  as  they  were  through  the  dilapidated  door 
way,  and  they  came  back  laughing  nervously,  but 
they  were  trembling  and  there  was  a  "gone"  .feeling 
inside. 

The  woman  at  the  other  table  was  sobbing. 

Outside  a  great  yellow  cloud  was  spreading  down 
from  the  north.  Ominous  and  threatening,  it  told  a 
plain  story  of  a  city  on  fire.  The  two  girls  felt 
strangely  out  of  place.  A  large  man  came  up  on 
a  hard-ridden  horse,  a  coil  of  rope  around  the  pom 
mel  of  his  saddle.  Sam  asked  him  about  the  city. 

"Don't  go  up  there,"  he  said  sternly.  "There's 
not  a  drop  of  water  and  there  won't  be  anything  to 
eat  by  night.  The  soldiers  are  surrounding  the  city; 
wouldn't  let  you  in  if  you  got  there.  No  use  trying 
it.  Everybody's  leaving.  There'll  be  twenty  thou 
sand  people  here  by  night,"  he  added  to  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  roadhouse  who  had  come  out  in  his 
great  white  apron;  and  as  the  man  disappeared 
toward  the  distant  packing  establishment  for  which 
he  was  bound,  the  far-sighted  host  put  the  advice  to 
practice  by  getting  fifty  loaves  of  bread  from  a 
passing  bakery  wagon.  As  yet  things  were  still  go 
ing,  wound  up  by  the  machinery  of  the  day  before, 

[205] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

but  the  order  would  soon  be  upset,  for  already  sev 
eral  crowded  automobiles,  piled  high  with  baggage, 
had  gone  by,  fleeing  from  the  city. 

The  group  on  the  porch  became  a  council  of  war. 

"I'm  sure  we  could  make  it,"  insisted  Peter,  and 
Elizabeth  asserted  that  she  was  "game." 

Sam  shifted  his  position  and  coughed.  "I  don't 
think  you'd  better  try  it,"  he  said.  "There's  no  tell 
ing  what  you  may  get  into.  One  of  the  trains  will 
go  back  from  San  Bruno  soon  and  you  could  easily 
get  it.  I'll  have  to  try  to  get  this  dope  in." 

Then  Peter  saw  that  he  wanted  to  get  rid  of  them, 
thought  they  were  a  nuisance,  and  was  in  a  hurry  to 
be  off.  "I  wish  I  were  a  man !  "  she  cried  angrily. 

"But  you're  not,"  said  Sam  teasingly,  "you're 
only  a  girl." 

"And  of  no  use  in  an  emergency,"  finished  Peter. 

Sam  looked  guilty  and  Elizabeth  settled  the  mat 
ter.  "We'll  be  good  and  go  home  where  you  think 
we  belong.  Good-bye,"  and  they  reluctantly  turned 
in  opposite  directions. 

Stumbling  down  the  railroad  track,  Peter  wept 
softly.  "Just  because  we're  girls,  just  because  we're 
girls,  we  can't  go  up  and  see  it  all."  Elizabeth  was 
comforting,  but  she  seemed  to  have  discovered  the 
fact  long  ago  and  become  reconciled  to  it. 

[206] 


EARTHQUAKE  EMERGENCT 

Slowly  they  retraced  their  way.  Once  they 
stopped  and  bought  peanuts  at  a  little  stand  near 
the  cemeteries.  The  cloud  overhead  had  become 
denser,  and  more  crowded  automobiles  were  coming 
down  the  county-road  from  the  city. 

Then,  in  the  midst  of  a  green  field,  they  saw  their 
engine  slowly  coming  toward  them  over  the  twisted 
and  hastily  repaired  tracks.  They  ran  on  to  gain  a 
crossing,  and  there  the  train  stopped,  and  the  con 
ductor  was  waiting  to  help  them  on. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Sam,  who  had  not  caught 
the  train,  found  them  waiting  for  him  when  he 
arrived  at  Valencia  Street  station. 

Pacing  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  desolate  crowd 
of  homeless,  huddled  amongst  their  baggage,  Peter 
and  Elizabeth  were  waiting  for  a  chance  to  return. 
The  ride  up  had  been  a  nightmare — an  ever-redden 
ing  cloud  of  smoke,  a  harrowing  throng  hurrying 
from  the  city  in  every  possible  kind  of  conveyance, 
confused  cries  of  "Don't  go  in  there! — You  can't 
help! — You  don't  know  what  you're  getting  into!  " 
But  with  stolid  persistence  the  train  had  pushed  on 
slowly,  almost  crawling,  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
burning  center  of  the  city. 

Elizabeth  had  seen  Sam's  sombrero  crossing  the 

[207] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

street  through  the  outgoing  stream  of  people,  dodg 
ing  between  a  wagon  almost  toppling  over  with 
household  furniture  and  a  useless  street-car.  Pull 
ing  Peter  hastily  around  the  corner  of  the  station, 
she  pointed  out  the  familiar  figure,  and  then  both 
drew  back  into  the  shadow,  for  they  felt  somewhat 
ashamed  of  having  disobeyed  orders. 

Sam  laughed,  for  he  could  not  help  it,  as  he 
perceived  their  crestfallen  countenances,  though 
laughter  sounded  strangely  out  of  place  among  this 
crowd  of  stunned  people,  dumbly  waiting  for  a 
chance  to  get  away. 

"Well,  how  did  you  do  it?'  he  asked. 

"Don't  ask  us,"  said  Peter,  "we  want  to  go  back 
now." 

"I  don't  think  there's  much  chance,"  Sam  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  "but  we'll  wait  awhile." 

"Oh,  don't  you  wait!"  pleaded  Elizabeth,  "you 
must  get  to  the  paper." 

"Office  has  gone,"  said  the  college  correspondent 
in  a  voice  of  despair.  "Come  down  this  street  and 
have  a  look  at  the  fire." 

Perhaps  ten  blocks  down  a  near  street  they  looked 
into  the  red  center  of  the  fire,  where,  over  the  heads 
of  the  crowd  of  people  that  surrounded  it,  they  could 
see  the  flames  steadily  at  work. 

[208] 


EARTHQUAKE  EMERGENCT 

It  was  tiresome  wandering  between  the  crowded 
station  and  the  point  from  which  the  fire  could  be 
seen.  People  were  waiting,  hardly  speaking  or  com 
plaining,  or  were  passing  on  in  an  endless  procession, 
overloaded,  ready  to  drop;  anything  to  get  away. 
The  trio  sat  on  the  steps  of  an  apparently  deserted 
house  and  waited  also.  Their  features  assumed 
somewhat  the  stoical,  resigned  expression  of  the 
people  in  the  streets.  The  afternoon  was  almost 
gone,  and  every  one  felt  the  dread  of  the  approaching 
night. 

"We  can't  stay  here  any  longer,"  Elizabeth  said 
finally.  "We  must  go  out  to  my  aunt's,  near  the 
Park.  We  can  stay  there  all  night." 

They  decided  that  it  was  the  only  thing  to  do,  and 
so  started  across  the  city,  up  hill  and  down,  over 
miles  of  sidewalk  crowded  with  people  too  fright 
ened  to  stay  in  their  houses.  Sometimes  they  found 
their  way  barred  by  danger  ropes,  where  a  whole  flat 
was  leaning  over  at  a  startling  angle,  and  once,  a 
block  away,  they  saw  where  the  first  story  of  a  small 
hotel  had  given  way,  landing  the  structure  in  the 
basement.  And  repeatedly  came  the  ominous,  dull 
explosions  of  dynamite  in  the  hands  of  the  fire 
fighters.  They  resounded  from  different  parts  of  the 
city  like  distant  guns  in  the  battle  against  the  fire. 

[209] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Once,  Sam  took  his  two  weary  followers  near  the 
fire  line,  and,  to  get  a  better  view,  went  a  block  out 
of  the  way.  Elizabeth,  tall,  slender,  eyes  shining 
with  excitement,  could  see  over  the  crowd  and  the 
soldiers  blocking  the  street.  Peter,  tiptoeing  on  a 
stairway,  peered  over  her  shoulder  clinging  to  her 
tightly.  Through  the  vista  of  fire  could  be  seen  the 
glowing  ruins  of  the  buildings  already  consumed, 
and  nearer  came  the  visible  crash  of  a  falling  roof 
or  a  side  wall.  Slowly  and  surely  it  burned,  with  a 
crackle  and  roar,  insatiable,  as  if  it  were  some  evil 
genius,  long  confined  and  now  let  loose,  ravaging 
and  pillaging  while  the  waterless  city  was  helpless 
and  at  his  mercy. 

Slowly  the  soldiers  began  to  advance,  and  the 
crowd  retreated  before  them,  while  an  officer  ran 
ahead,  giving  notice  at  each  house  in  that  street  to 
vacate  for  the  dynamiting.  People  cried  out,  and 
ran  back  for  a  last  armful. 

There  was  a  man  inside  the  line  of  soldiers.  He 
was  helping  carry  dynamite  from  a  big  automobile 
into  the  middle  of  the  rapidly  deserted  street.  He 
was  a  young  man,  with  broad  shoulders  and  a  strong 
face.  As  he  stood  up  from  depositing  the  blackened 
sticks,  Sam  saw  him — news  editor  for  the  paper — 
his  paper,  and  shouting  "Weyland,"  rushed  for  the 

[210] 


EARTHQUAKE   EMERGENCY 

line  of  soldiers.  From  where  they  stood  the  girls 
could  see  that  he  had  some  trouble  in  getting 
through.  He  almost  lost  his  coat  in  a  struggle  with 
one  of  the  soldiers.  People  were  shouting  to  him 
to  stop,  but  he  finally  broke  away  and  was  at  Wey- 
land's  side,  when  a  shot  rang  out  and  he  fell  in  a 
heap.  The  man  bent  over  him  and  the  crowd  closed 
around,  shutting  out  all  view  from  the  two  on  the 
steps. 

So  quickly  had  it  come,  that  Peter  was  stunned. 
Dazed  and  horrified,  she  trailed  after  the  frantic 
Elizabeth,  who  pushed  at  the  edge  of  the  dense 
crowd  with  as  much  effort  as  at  a  wooden  stockade. 
When  a  way  was  opened  up,  it  was  to  let  pass  the 
big  automobile  from  which  the  dynamite  had  been 
taken.  Weyland  was  holding  something  on  the 
broad  seat  of  the  tonneau.  He  did  not  hear  Eliza 
beth  shouting  his  name,  and  he  did  not  see  her  almost 
clutching  the  big  tires  as  they  cleared  the  jam  of 
people. 

When  the  car  had  gone,  Peter  found  her  pale  and 
voluble.  Over  and  over  again  she  cried  out,  as 
though  repeating  the  insistent  questionings  of  some 
inner  voice:  "Peter,  why  did  we  come1?  Why 
did  we  come1?  Do  you  think  he  was  killed*?  Do 
you — do  you?" 

[211] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Peter,  shaken  into  a  negative  answer,  insisted  that 
he  couldn't  be. 

"Oh,  those  soldiers,"  raged  the  taller  girl,  "I  could 
shoot  every  one  of  them — to  strike  him  down  like 
that !  "  People  were  beginning  to  edge  nearer. 

"Did  you  know  him?"  asked  a  curious  woman. 
With  her  head  high,  Elizabeth  moved  on.  Again 
on  their  way,  she  could  not  remain  silent. 

"Just  because  he  was  so  crazy  about  getting  the 
news  in!"  she  wailed,  "and  so  reckless!  And  it  was 
all  on  account  of  us,  Peter,  that  he  came  out  here!" 

"Yes,  it's  awful  we're  girls  and  have  to  be  taken 
care  of  like  babies,"  said  the  other,  disgustedly. 

"Oh,  it's  frightful,  just  think  of  it!  Peter,  you 
don't  realize  it,  we  saw  him  killed!"  and  the  almost 
distracted  Elizabeth  shrieked  hysterically. 

Peter  rebelled.  "He  disobeyed  orders  just  as 
much  as  we  did.  Besides,  he's  probably  not  danger 
ously  hurt  at  all;  they  fix  them  up  so  easily  now 
adays,  you  know." 

"Well,  you  are  the  most  cold-hearted  person  I 
ever  saw,"  Elizabeth  sobbed.  But  without  sym 
pathy,  she  could  say  no  more. 

Peter,  rather  ashamed  of  her  unfeelingness,  but 
defiant,  kept  her  thoughts  to  herself,  and  they  con 
tinued  the  weary  tramp  of  the  hard  sidewalks. 

[212] 


EARTHQUAKE  EMERGENCY 

Block  by  block,  they  zigzagged  along  the  outskirts  of 
the  city  into  the  Western  Addition,  where  the  fire 
had  not  reached.  Everywhere  the  porches  and  steps 
were  filled  with  people,  and  on  all  the  streets  the 
processions  of  movers  continued  at  intervals.  At  a 
great  orphan  asylum  they  were  spreading  blankets 
for  the  children  on  the  terraced  lawn,  and  here  a 
homeless  family  had  taken  possession  of  a  hack  in 
front  of  a  livery  stable.  There  were  curious  sights 
as  well  as  pathetic,  but  tired  eyes  saw  all  without 
interest. 

Finally,  they  crawled  through  a  park  that  spread 
itself  over  the  crest  of  a  hill,  and,  turning  down  a 
street  flanked  closely  with  flats  and  houses  of  the 
same  design,  were  greeted  by  a  cry  of  welcome  and 
hauled  into  one  of  the  narrow  front  doors,  which 
shut  after  them,  closing  out  all  but  friends  and 
kindness. 

"Lucky,  lucky,"  whispered  the  wide-eyed  woman 
who  had  sat  on  the  low  curbing  in  front  of  the  house 
to  rest  her  big  bundle  and  two  small  children. 
Then,  with  a  final  glance  at  the  closed  door,  she 
picked  up  her  burden  and  continued  the  long  walk 
to  the  park. 

•%.  j|c  >(t  ^;  -Jf.  % 

Perhaps  Fate  permits  no  rest  to  those  who  have 
[213] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

once  disobeyed  orders;  perhaps  it  was  decreed  that, 
once  started,  they  should  see  it  to  the  end.  At  all 
events,  to  two  terrified  girls,  who  had  crept  down 
through  the  still  hot  ruins  of  Market  and  Folsom 
Streets  the  next  morning,  when  their  friends  thought 
them  on  their  way  to  Palo  Alto,  Berkeley  was  an 
earthly  paradise. 

Peter  was  sure  something  would  have  happened 
to  them,  had  not  a  man  with  a  suit-case  taken  them 
under  his  protection  during  the  long  walk  over 
heaved-up  cobble-stones  and  fallen  debris.  It  was 
the  college-looking  suit-case  that  had  attracted 
Elizabeth,  but  it  was  Peter's  keeping  close  to  his 
heels  like  a  well-trained  puppy  that  had  made  him 
turn  around. 

At  first  Elizabeth  had  worried  and  she  had 
sobbed,  "That  man  said  no  trains  were  going,  and 
we  couldn't  go  back  there,  could  we,  Peter,  when 
they  hardly  had  enough  for  themselves  to  eat"?" 

"No,  and  then  they  say  we  can  get  to  Berkeley. 
Close  your  eyes  if  we  see  anything  horrible,"  the 
smaller  girl  had  added,  in  appreciation  of  Elizabeth's 
sensitiveness,  "and  I  will  lead  you  by." 

But  they  had  seen  no  blackened  corpses,  only 
partially  animated  men  and  women  camping  in  the 
debris,  up  against  the  ruins  of  the  still  hot  walls, 

[214] 


EARTHQUAKE  EMERGENCT 

scraps  of  sheet  iron  protecting  them  from  the  wind. 
Squatting  on  the  littered  sidewalks  close  to  the  em 
bers,  they  seemed  some  horrible  offspring  of  the 
ashes  of  their  tenements.  The  wretchedness  and 
the  heat  had  given  Peter  an  impression  of  another 
place  renowned  for  these  two  characteristics.  It 
couldn't  be  much  worse,  she  had  thought.  Compared 
with  these  denizens  of  the  lower  part  of  town,  the 
people  out  by  the  park  were  happy  inhabitants  of 
another  world.  Like  Dante,  they  could  pass  from 
one  circle  to  another.  And  when  the  ferry-boat  had 
left  the  wastes  of  ruined  walls  where  famine  threat 
ened  and  brought  them  to  Berkeley,  it  was  Heaven 
indeed. 

Around  the  station  were  bevies  of  white-starched 
maidens,  representing  committees  and  sub-commit 
tees  for  the  relief  of  refugees.  And  did  one  for 
saken-looking  being  get  off  the  train,  his  bundle  was 
taken  away,  he  was  rushed  to  the  temporary  lunch 
counter,  and  a  hundred  homes  were  waiting  to  receive 
him. 

Peter  and  Elizabeth  fell  into  the  arms  of  some  of 
the  Berkeley  Lambda  Eta  girls,  who  seemed  rather 
disappointed  that  they  had  not  "lost  everything." 
To  be  again  inside  a  well-appointed  house  was 
almost  inconceivable,  and  a  well-served  dinner 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

seemed  a  wicked  luxury  with  their  eyes  still  seeing 
a  destitute  woman  making  coffee  over  a  smoky  fire 
in  a  desert  of  debris. 

Across  the  table  the  two  girls  looked  at  each  other 
with  wan  faces,  tired  from  lack  of  sleep,  and  out  of 
sympathy  with  the  laughter  of  the  rest.  The 
memory  of  what  they  had  seen  rested  heavily  upon 
them.  Elizabeth's  tightly  drawn  brows  threatened 
a  collapse  and  Peter  was  strung  to  the  point  of 
irritability. 

"We  must  do  something,"  the  older  girl  insisted. 

It  was  Peter  who  suggested  the  hospital,  and  at 
the  emergency  ward  improvised  in  Odd  Fellows' 
Hall,  the  doctors,  preparing  for  patients  from  the 
city,  eagerly  accepted  Elizabeth,  because  she  looked 
so  capable,  and  Peter  rather  dubiously.  The  latter, 
however,  made  herself  more  than  useful  in  helping 
to  turn  hastily  donated  mattresses  and  improvised 
tables  into  beds. 

In  the  afternoon,  when  the  ferry-boats  were 
thrown  open  to  everybody,  patients  began  to  arrive. 
At  first  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  Italian  quarter  of 
the  city  was  pouring  into  Berkeley.  Small  chil 
dren  came  plentifully,  and  orders  were  given  that 
they  should  be  washed.  When  this  fact  became 
known  outside,  helpers  were  less  insistent  in  offering 

[216] 


EARTHQUAKE  EMERGENCT 

their  services.  Elizabeth  managed  to  evade  this, 
but  Peter  literally  waded  in  and  washed  each  dirty 
bit  of  humanity  as  microscopically  as  she  did 
specimens  in  the  laboratory. 

Once  a  regal  lady  floated  in,  with  sweeping  train 
and  tragic  manner;  she  was  ill,  so  ill.  "It's  a  shame 
to  say  it,"  whispered  the  doctor,  after  examination, 
"alcohol." 

Finally,  soon  after  a  train  had  clanged  and 
shrieked  in  the  street  outside,  the  telephone  rang, 
and  the  hospital  was  asked  to  send  attendants  to 
carry  in  a  patient.  Peter  shivered  as  the  stretcher 
came  through  the  door  and  the  blanketed  form  upon 
it  did  not  move.  The  doctor  read  the  paper  pinned 
on  the  outside:  "Berkeley  student,  shot  in  ankle, 
fracture  of  skull." 

An  experienced  nurse  was  given  charge  of  the  case, 
but  when  the  doctor  had  made  his  examination  and 
the  patient  rested  on  one  of  the  high  beds,  Elizabeth 
was  called,  with  the  words,  "He'll  come  round  in  a 
minute,  and  when  he  does,  give  him  this."  A 
reporter  was  waiting  to  find  out  his  name  and  where 
he  lived. 

Elizabeth,  approaching  the  patient  reluctantly, 
suddenly  set  down  the  glass  and  ran — ran  until  she 
came  to  where  Peter  was  engaged  with  the  babies. 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Here,  unmindful  of  the  water  or  soap,  she  grabbed 
Peter's  shoulders,  squeezing  them  joyously,  and 
saying  in  a  voice  of  suppressed  relief,  "Peter,  it's 
Sam." 

"Where?" 

"The  man  they  brought  in  from  the  train." 

"Is  he  badly  hurt?" 

"I  don't  know."  Elizabeth  recovered  herself. 
"I  must  go  back.  The  doctor  told  me  to  give  him 
something.  But  I'm  glad  he's  here,"  and  she 
departed  in  rather  more  of  a  confused  hurry  than 
she  had  come. 

Sam  opened  his  eyes  with  a  strange  feeling  of 
helplessness  and  rebellion.  He  shut  them  again 
when  he  saw  Elizabeth,  and  reddened  in  embarrass 
ment  at  his  appearance.  To  be  down  and  out  is  one 
thing,  but  to  be  watched  in  that  condition  by  a  girl 
is  galling.  Still,  there  is  something  comforting 
about  large  brown  eyes  full  of  sympathy. 

Sam  tried  to  lift  his  head  to  look  around.  "Is  it 
Palo  Alto?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  Elizabeth,  "Berkeley.  The  doctoi 
told  me  to  give  you  this  when  you  opened  your  eyes." 
To  do  this,  it  was  necessary  to  pass  an  arm  under 
the  broad  shoulders  and  steady  the  hand  that  held 
the  glass.  Sam  choked  and  laughed  awkwardly, 


EARTHQUAKE   EMERGENCT 

then  choked  again.  His  eyes  regained  some  of 
their  old  keenness,  but  he  sank  back  on  the  pillow 
painfully. 

"It's  just  my  head,"  he  scowled.  "Must  have  hit 
those  cobble-stones  awfully  hard." 

"Will  you  ever  forgive  us1?"  Elizabeth  began. 

"Not  your  fault,"  said  Sam.  "I  wanted  to  see 
Weyland." 

"Where  did  he  take  you*?  I  tried  to  stop  him 
when  he  went  away,  but " 

"I  don't  remember.  I  guess  it  was  the  pavilion. 
I  heard  him  say  something  about  college  correspond 
ent  of  the  tfimes.  Must  have  thought  I  was  Berke 
ley;  my  head  was  so  I  couldn't  tell  them." 

"I'm  glad  they  did  send  you  here,"  Elizabeth 
smiled. 

Sam  frowned  beneath  the  bandages.  "Awful 
insult  sending  me  to  Berkeley,  wait  till  I  see  Wey 
land!  Wonder  he  couldn't  have  put  a  tag  on  me." 

"Some  one  else  did.     Booked  you  Berkeley." 

Sam  groaned. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  it,"  pleaded  Elizabeth.  "It's 
too  awful  to  talk  about.  We  thought  surely  you 
had  been  killed — Peter — 

"Where's  Peter?' 

"She's    washing    the    babies."     A    weak    smile 

[219] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

spread  over  the  correspondent's  features.  The 
doctor  and  the  reporters  interfered,  and  when  Eliza 
beth  returned,  the  patient  had  been  cheered  by  the 
news  that  when  the  ankle  was  in  a  plaster,  there 
being  no  sign  of  fracture  of  the  skull,  he  would  be 
free  to  go.  Elizabeth,  straightening  the  pillow, 
smiled  down  at  him. 

Outside  on  the  steps  of  the  building,  tired  Peter 
was  resting  in  the  cool  of  the  late  afternoon.  Peo 
ple  were  passing  up  and  down  into  the  hospital,  but 
she  did  not  notice  them.  Men  and  women  with 
badges  and  red  crosses  passed  to  and  fro  in  the  street, 
alternating  with  weary,  bedraggled  families  laden 
with  bundles.  Trains  were  coming  in  and  always 
returning  empty.  To  the  west  there  was  a  red  re 
flection  in  the  sky  that  was  more  than  sunset,  and 
the  edge  of  a  cloud,  smoke  yellow.  Peter  was  tired. 
She  bent  her  head  down  and  rested  it  upon  her  arms. 
It  came  to  her  wearily  that  perhaps  she  should  be 
tired  for  a  long  time.  Vaguely  the  realization  of 
the  long  period  of  readjustment  to  follow  came  over 
her.  To  go  away  until  it  was  all  over  and  settled 
again!  Peter  sighed,  but  then  she  felt  and  knew 
that  to  endure  was  the  only  courage,  however  black 
seemed  the  vague  foreshadowings  of  the  evils  that 
by  law  must  follow  in  the  replanting  of  uprooted 

[  220  ] 


EARTHQUAKE  EMERGENCY 

conditions.  Perhaps  Peter  heard  the  endless  ham 
mering  on  the  beloved  Quad  and  the  echo  of  the 
stone-cutters'  chisels  through  the  long  arcades. 

Upstairs,  Elizabeth  was  saying  to  Sam:  "There's 
just  one  thing  Peter  wants  to  know." 

"What  is  it1?"  came  a  little  weakly. 

"She  wants  to  know,  and  she  is  gloating  to  hear 
your  answer,  she  wants  to  know  if  girls  aren't  of  as 
much  use  in  an  emergency  as  some  men1?" 


[221  ] 


Senior  JF 


SENIOR  FINALITIES 

Characters.  Elizabeth  Warner,  Margaret  Sears, 
Sam  tfrent  and  Philip  Collier. 

Scene.  A  stairway  at  Enema  overlooking  the 
ballroom.  Elizabeth  Warner  and  Sam  tfrent  seated 
on  a  couch  on  the  landing. 

Trent.  So  this  is  our  Senior,  'Lizbeth!  You'd 
laugh  if  you  knew  how  I'd  counted  on  it — almost 
since  we  were  Sophomores — having  you  for  Senior 
week,  I  mean.  And  yet,  I'm  not  so  envious  of 
Philip  as  I  might  be.  Do  you  know,  I  wouldn't 
barter  one  of  those  glorious  out-of-door  days  for  all 
his  week  of  festivities.  You  looked  bored  to  death 
at  the  Prom! 

Elizabeth.     Merely  my  ankle,  Samuel. 

Trent.  And,  hang  it  all,  you're  all  worn  out  to 
night  ! 

Elizabeth.     My  ankle  again,  sir. 

Trent.  Betty,  what  you  want  is  God's  out-of- 
doors.  Come  on,  cut  Chapel  tomorrow  and  we'll 
make  for  "hill-church."  I'll  order  the  pintos  from 
Parsons  tonight,  and  we'll  go  any  place  you  like. 
Let's  make  it  La  Honda  and  a  campfire  by  the 

creek 

[225] 


NO*?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Elizabeth  (laughingly).  Oh,  you;  that's  the 
way  you  always  begin,  "Wherever  you  like,  Eliza 
beth,  only  let's  go —  What  a  man  you  are ! 

^frent.  Don't  you  like  it  best,  the  redwoods  and 
the  old  Alpine  grade?  You  used  to. 

Elizabeth.  Oh,  then  of  course  I  must — still.  It 
is  hard  to  tell,  though,  really.  One  metamorphoses 
constantly  here.  There's  very  little  of  real  me  left, 
anyway.  Peter  says  my  "elemental  self"  is  quite 
evaporated. 

tfrent.  Peter's  a  pessimist  and  we  won't  believe 
her.  Do  you  know,  she  assured  me  tonight  that  the 
only  reason  she  let  me  bring  her  was  to  vindicate  me 
before  my  fellow-men  as  a  "queener."  She  also 
flatteringly  intimated  that  in  the  category  of  bore 
dom  I  rank  rather  higher  than  average. 

Elizabeth.  That  was  not  nice  of  Peter.  I  shall 
remonstrate. 

^frent  (laughingly).  I  wouldn't.  She's  swear 
ing  vengeance  on  even  you  tonight.  Miss  Benson 
has  scandalized  her  completely,  and  you  are  held 
sponsor  for  the  importation. 

Elizabeth.  Poor,  dear  Peter.  The  days  of  neck 
ruffs  and  cameos  are  her  setting.  What's  the  offense, 
I  wonder1? 

[226] 


SENIOR  FINALITIES 

tfrent.  Well,  I  don't  want  to  butt  in,  but  I  don't 
think  myself  that  swinging  one's  feet  from  a  seat 
on  the  punch-table  is  a  very  attractive  posture  for  a 
woman,  do  you*?  And  it  is  a  bit  conspicuous  to 
entertain  half  a  dozen  men  at  once  on  the  verandah, 
all  of  them  puffing  away  at  cigarettes.  I  agree  with 
Peter,  for  one. 

Elizabeth.  Oh,  ye  puritans.  The  farm  is  simply 
too  rural  for  your  broadest  development,  that's  all, 
I  don't  mean  that  I  approve  of  Kate  Benson.  I 
don't.  But  you  know  how  city  girls  are — most  of 
them — and  you  have  to  consider  environment. 

tfrent  (valiantly).  Well,  the  men  aren't  strong 
for  them,  anway.  It's  only  a  few  of  these  fool 
society-ites  who  stand  for  it. 

Elizabeth.  I  suppose  Philip  is  to  be  included 
among  the  denunciated'?  You  are  not  fair,  Sam. 
Mrs.  Collier  said  something  to  Kate  Benson  about 
Senior  Week  when  she  first  came  out  to  visit  them. 
Philip  had  already  asked  me,  so  he  got  Dick  to  bring 
her.  When  Mrs.  Collier  was  taken  ill  at  the  last 
moment  and  Kate  could  not  go  to  the  Theta  Phi 
house,  there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  ask  her 
to  stay  with  us.  Marion  declares  she's  a  perfect 
"cat,"  and  Peter,  on  general  routine  principle,  de 
nounces  her  as  flippant.  I  think  she  is  merely  dif- 

[227] 


INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

ferent,  and  it's  natural  she  should  be  a  little  bit 
spoiled.  Dick's  cousin,  who  went  to  finishing  school 
with  her,  wrote  out  that  she  is  ever  so  keen,  old 
Southern  family,  popular,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
Mrs.  Collier  wouldn't  be  entertaining  her  if  she  were 
not  worth  while. 

tfrent.    By  no  means ! 

Elizabeth.    And  lots  of  money ! 

tfrent.     Particularly ! 

Elizabeth  (puzzled).     What  do  you  mean,  Sam4? 

tfrent.     Merely — ambition. 

Elizabeth.  Oh!  You  think  Mrs.  Collier  is 
throwing  her  at  Philip.  I  see !  Perhaps  she  is,  but 
Sam,  somehow  I  don't  think  he  would  be  carried 
away  by  that  sort  of  thing. 

^frent.  Oh,  I  know,  'Lizbeth.  I  am  not  con 
demning  him.  I  am  trying  not  even  to  judge  him. 
He  does  seem  to  be  liking  it,  though.  At  least,  he 
is  giving  Miss  Benson  the  time  of  her  life. 

Elizabeth  (following  Trent's  glance  to  a  corner 
near  the  fireplace,  where  Philip  and  Miss  Benson 
are  sitting).  Of  course,  he  is  doing  his  best  to  en 
tertain  her.  Philip  is  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to 
do  otherwise  with  a  guest,  show  preferences  or 
prejudices,  I  mean. 

tfrent.     That's  just  it! 

[228] 


SENIOR  FINALITIES 

Elizabeth.     What  do  you  mean  by  that? 

'Trent.  Why  such  a  grace  in  your  eyes?  You 
used  to  scorn  diplomacy. 

Elizabeth  (wearily).  Part  of  the  evaporation, 
presumably. 

'Trent.  Again  I  prescribe  the  hills.  Will  you 
go? 

Elizabeth.  I  can't.  I've  made  a  half-way  en 
gagement  already. 

'Trent.  You're  not  giving  me  even  my  fighting 
chance.  It  is  the  last  time  I  shall  see  you,  if  you 
start  south  Monday.  Wasn't  all  of  Senior  Week 
enough  to  give  him,  and  after  the  way  I  had  banked 
on  it,  Elizabeth?  Hang  it  all,  he  can't  care  about 
the  place  and  its  memories  as  you  and  I  have  cared. 
But  I  won't  begrudge  him  a  thing  in  the  world  if 
you  will  only  give  me  one  last,  old-time  day.  We 
will  go  over  into  the  woods  where  we  went  shooting 
"squichets"  last  spring.  Do  you  remember,  'Liz- 
beth?  We  didn't  shoot  any,  did  we,  dear?  We 
hadn't  the  heart  when  the  saucy  little  fellows  sat 
there,  way  up  in  the  tree  tops,  cracking  their  nuts 
and  pelting  the  shells  at  us.  And  you  told  me  com 
ing  home  how  glad  you  were  that  the  day  had  not 
been  marred  by  the  death  of  even  a  gray  "squichet." 
Elizabeth,  that  was  the  red-letter  day  of  my  life. 

[229] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

You  were  closer  in  sympathy  with  me  than  I  had 
ever  dared  hope — you  were — I  know  you  were !  Do 
you  remember  your  delight  in  stomping  through  the 
creek-bed  in  your  soaked  shoes,  even  with  my  threat 
from  the  bank  to  "Shoot  your  heels  off"  hanging 
over  you*?  And  then,  the  drive  home! 

Elizabeth  (closing  her  eyes  protestingly).  Don't, 
Sam,  don't! 

^rent  (dreamily).  The  sunset  on  the  ocean  from 
the  summit  near  the  wood-pile,  the  greens  and  greens 
of  the  wooded  hills,  and  then  the  fog.  It  came 
down  like  magic,  didn't  it,  leaving  only  the  highest 
hilltops  lifted  above  it,  like  dark  islands  among 
great  billows.  It  stood  so  still !  'Lizbeth,  it  was 
all  part  of  some  wonderful  stillness  and  understand 
ing  that  we  both  felt  that  day.  You  felt  it,  too, 
dear,  didn't  you?  Tell  me,  didn't  you,  'Lizbeth *? 

Elizabeth  (getting  to  her  feet).  I  want  to  go 
outside.  I  can't  breathe  here.  Don't  talk  to  me, 
please  don't,  Sam ! 

A  deep  window  recess  on  the  verandah. 

Elizabeth.  I  can't  feel  differently  about  you, 
Sam.  I  have  tried  to  make  you  believe  it  ever  since 
the  beginning  of  the  semester. 

tfrenf.  Ever  since  Philip  Collier  came  back, 
Elizabeth.  I  know.  If  I  thought  you  really  cared 

[230] 


SENIOR  FINALITIES 

for  him,  Elizabeth,  if  I  thought  you  would  really 
be  happy,  but  I  can't  believe  it,  I  can't. 

Elizabeth.  It  could  not  change  me  about  you, 
even  if  I  did  not  care,  Sam.  Oh,  don't  make  it  any 
harder  for  me!  I  am  so  unhappy!  Why  did  you 
ever  grow  out  of  the  dear  old  comradery  days — why 
did  you4?  I  don't  believe  you  ever  thought  of  me 
this  way  until 

tfrent.  Elizabeth,  I  have  always,  subconsciously 
perhaps  until  this  spring,  but  I've  always  cared, 
and  you  know  I  always  will.  And  Elizabeth, 
I  know  now,  I  know  you  do  love  him — you  have  as 
good  as  said  so. 

Elizabeth.  I  haven't,  surely  I  haven't.  Why,  I 
don't  even  know  that  he 

tfrent  (savagely).  He  does,  he's  got  to  care  if 
you  do!  Elizabeth,  little  girl,  forgive  all  I  have 
said.  I'm  hard  hit!  I  hadn't  believed  it  could  be 
as  bad  as  this,  but  I  know  I  am  unworthy — some 
thing  is  wrong  or  I'd  have  had  you.  (Pulling  him 
self  together.)  One  thing,  Elizabeth — I've  had  a 
part  of  you  that  he  never  will.  Thank  God,  that's 
mine!  The  woods  and  the  hills  over  there,  you'll 
think  of  me  sometimes  when  you  remember  them 
and  Stanford,  won't  you,  'Lizbeth — think  of  your 
old  pal  of  the  open  road4?  That's  all  I  ask! 

[231  ] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Elizabeth  (visibly  moved  and  reaching  out  her 
hand  for  his) .  Dear,  dear  pal ! 

tfrent  (touching  his  lips  to  her  hand).  God  bless 
you  for  that!  There's  a  dreary  open-road  before 
me  now.  I  am  going  out  to  Korea  with  Carson  and 
the  bunch.  It  will  be  new  and  exciting,  though, 
and,  'Lizbeth,  I'll  say  that  over  to  myself  many 
times  by  the  way — what  you  said  just  now.  It  will 
help  a  lot. 

Elizabeth.  And  you  will  forget  all  about  the 
other,  Sam'?  Promise  me1?  I  can't  bear  to  think 
of  you  unhappy. 

^rent.  I'll  try  to,  I'll  try  my  best — at  least  I'll 
never  bother  you  with  it  again.  I'm  a  selfish  brute, 
little  Betty,  and—  You're  not  crying?  Oh, 
please!  please! 

Elizabeth  (dabbing  her  eyes).  I  won't,  I  won't! 
See — all  gone! 

tfrenf.  I  am  going  in  to  get  Peter  for  you. 
Good-bye,  little  pal.  You  deserve  all  the  good 
things  in  the  world.  God  bless  you,  'Lizbeth! 
God  bless  you ! 

Elizabeth  (brokenly).  Good-bye,  Sam,  boy! 
Good-bye ! 

Enter  Margaret  Sears — comes  down  the  verandah 

[232] 


SENIOR  FINALITIES 

with  'Trent,  who  wheels  suddenly  and  leaves  her 
alone  with  Elizabeth. 

Peter.  Sam  has  singled  me  out  as  an  angel  of 
comfort.  Poor  Betty,  I'm  not  much  use  in  that 
role,  I  fear.  Besides,  dear,  I  am  not  sure  that  you 
deserve  it.  How  could  you,  Elizabeth,  how  could 
you*?  I  know  what  you  have  told  him.  I  could 
see  it  in  his  face  half-way  across  the  room,  and  oh, 
Elizabeth,  I  feel  as  if  the  last  prop  in  my  little  world 
had  gone  under,  too.  Somehow  it  seems  as  if  you 
were  cutting  loose  from  all  the  old  things.  You 
know  what  I  mean. 

Elizabeth  (weeping  softly).  Peter,  I  can't  make 
you  understand,  it  is  something  beyond  my  power 
to  change.  I  know,  indeed  I  know,  Peter,  how  fine 
he  is.  Part  of  me — your  old-time  "elemental"  part, 
I  guess,  won't  let  me  be  happy  about  losing  him, 
but 

Peter  (impatiently).  Elizabeth,  that  is  the  best 
part  of  you,  the  part  we  all  love  you  for.  The 
other  isn't  you  at  all. 

Elizabeth.  It  is  very  real,  Peterkins,  you  don't 
know  how  painfully  real  it  is.  You  don't  know 
how  I  have  reasoned  with  myself — how  I  have  forti 
fied  my  mind  with  all  the  platitudes  that  ought  to 
convince,  but  they  don't,  they  don't,  Peter! 

[233] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Peter.  No — hardly — with  the  glamour  of  Philip 
offsetting  them.  That's  what  is  the  matter,  Betty. 
You  are  dazzled,  just  like  a  child.  Don't  be  cross 
with  me  for  thinking  it,  because  you  see  it's  a  sort  of 
impersonal  diagnosis.  You  don't  appeal  as  quite 
you  just  at  present. 

Elizabeth.  Poor  Philip — you  are  not  exactly 
meting  out  mercy  to  him,  are  you?  Why  should  he 
care  about  me,  Peter,  why  should  he  like  the  kind  of 
things  we  like  if  there  wasn't  the  other  side  to  him6? 
He  knows  I  am  not  like — like  Katherine  Benson,  for 
instance. 

Peter  (tartly).     I  should  hope  not. 

Elizabeth  (insistently).  Well,  why  should  he 
care,  Peter,  tell  me  that*? 

Peter.  It  is  another  side  of  him  uppermost — his 
best  self — for  the  moment. 

Elizabeth.  I  won't  believe  it.  I  couldn't  care 
as  I  do,  Peter,  I  couldn't,  if  there  was  nothing  to 
care  for.  Do  you  think  that  I  am  superficial,  too1? 

Peter  (caustically).  You  are  in  love,  Elizabeth, 
and  discrimination  is  not  conspicuous  in  the  process. 

Elizabeth.  Your  comfort  is  rather  pedantic, 
Peter.  You  had  better  go  back  to  your  partner. 

Peter.  I  mean  well  enough,  Betty,  dear,  but  I 
can't  help  caring  a  great  deal,  and  you  asked  me, 

[234] 


SENIOR  FIN  JURIES 

you  know!  I  suppose  you  have  the  rest  of  your 
dances  with  him.  They  were  beginning  to  go  up  to 
supper  as  we  came  out.  Thank  goodness,  those 
wretches  hanging  over  the  balcony  will  have  to 
scatter  to  their  rooms  for  a  little  while.  Some  of 
the  Freshmen  have  been  letting  down  sprigs  of 
mistletoe  all  evening  on  the  heads  of  the  unsuspect 
ing.  And  Carson's  up  there  with  his  eagle  eye  on 
Sam.  A  lot  of  the  '07  men  are  going  out  to  Korea 
on  the  survey  with  Lawson  and  they  want  him  to 
go.  I  guess  they  had  a  hunch  that  tonight  would 
decide  him. 

Elizabeth.     They  are  very  impertinent. 

Peter.     No — merely  human. 

Elizabeth.  You'd  better  go  up  if  you  are  going 
to  get  any  supper. 

Peter.  We  won't  save  seats  for  you  at  our  table 
as  we  planned,  I  suppose?  It  might  be  embarrass 
ing,  mightn't  it1?  The  stakes  on  Sam's  going  would 
be  rather  summarily  settled,  I  imagine. 

Elizabeth.     Don't  rub  it  in,  Peter! 

Peter  (softening  perceptibly).  Oh,  Betty!  don't 
do  anything  stupid.  You're  all  upset  and  worked 
upon  tonight.  Come  on  home  with  me  in  the  morn 
ing  and  you  can  think  things  over  during  the 

[235] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

summer.  Won't  you1?  I'll  go  up  to  the  house  and 
pack  for  you  tonight,  if  you  will. 

Elizabeth.  You  know  I  can't,  Peter!  It 
wouldn't  be  decent  of  me  to  cut  that  drive  after— 

Peter  (dryly).  I  think  it  would  be  the  decentest 
and  the  sanest  thing  you  ever  did. 

Elizabeth.  Don't  be  hard  on  me,  Peterkins, 
don't!  I  am  terribly  unhappy!  Tell  me,  are  my 
eyes  red*?  I  only  hope  Philip  won't  discover  me 
right  away.  I  know  I  look  a  fright !  And — Peter- 
kins,  be  as  decent  to  old  Sam  as  you  can,  won't  you4? 

Peter  (sniffing  as  she  walks  away).  H'm!  That 
comes  well  from  you. 

tfwo  dances  later  an  automobile  pulls  up  in  front 
of  the  Hall.  Miss  Benson  and  another  city  girl, 
followed  by  several  men,  come  up  the  steps. 

Collier  (discovering  Elizabeth  down  the  veran 
dah).  Ah!  here  you  are!  Dick  suggested  a  spurt 
down  to  Paly  in  his  machine  and  Katherine  wanted 
to  go.  I  am  afraid  it  has  made  me  cut  one  of  my 
dances  with  you,  worse  luck !  We  got  into  Wilson's 
and  nothing  short  of  three  rounds  would  do  them. 
Then  Kitty  insisted  on  a  last  "Encina  Delight." 

Elizabeth  (laughingly).  Oh,  you  are  forgiven. 
Any  one  who  pleads  such  a  patriotic  cause ! 

Philip.      It    wasn't    excuse    enough    to    satisfy 

[236] 


SENIOR  FINALITIES 

me.  Even  the  minutes  have  grown  precious  now, 
Elizabeth. 

Elizabeth.  That's  good  of  you  to  say,  when  my 
ankle  has  spoiled  things  so,  too!  I  know  you  will 
be  generous  and  vow  that  men  are  bored  with  danc 
ing,  anyway,  but  that's  only  when  a  cigarette  is  the 
alternative. 

Collier  (smiling).  Ah,  playing  skeptic  again! 
But  I  know  you  know  the  one  place  under  the  sun 
I  had  rather  be.  Elizabeth,  I  wonder  how  it  will 
seem  not  having  you  to  go  to4?  I've  grown  hor 
ribly  dependent  on  you,  haven't  I?  If  this  kind 
of  life  down  here  could  only  go  on  always.  That's 
it — what  are  they  waltzing  to  in  there  now — "One, 
two,  three,  four!  Take  back  your  sheepskin  A.  B. 
—I'll  not  be  whirled  into  the  world!"  Gee!  I 
wonder  if  a  fellow  ever  comes  to  his  commencement 
without  wanting  to  shout  it  at  'em — "Take  back 
your  sheepskin  A.  B." 

Elizabeth  (quoting  softly).  And  leave  us  "the 
Quad  and  the  Row  and  the  foothills  low."  That's 
the  hold  of  the  old  place  on  us,  but  you  see  we  have 
to  grow  up  some  time,  don't  we? 

Collier  (moodily).    Worse  luck,  we  do! 

Elizabeth  (banteringly) .  Better  luck  perhaps 
than  the  proverbial  jeans  suggest. 

[237] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

Collier.  Oh,  that  kind,  plenty  of  that !  It's  the 
other  things,  the  things  I've  got  here  with  you, 
Elizabeth.  The  world  outside  is  so  unattractive  by 
contrast,  after  these  dream  days.  A  fellow  forgets 
how  provincial  it  all  is  and  hates  the  launching  out 
into  reality.  And  then  when  your  life  is  all  cut  and 
dried  for  you.  That's  the  kind  of  a  life  I'm  bound 
to  drift  into  up  there  in  the  city. 

Elizabeth  (feebly).  It  doesn't  sound  much  like 
Kipling's  road  of  intentions,  does  it? 

Collier.  Well,  hang  it  all !  Elizabeth,  when 
your  family  has  it  all  mapped  out  for  you,  stepping 
into  the  old  man's  business,  inheriting  the  family 
friends  and  connections,  accepting  eventually,  I 
suppose,  even  the  marriage  prescribed  for  you 

Elizabeth.  Philip,  don't  be  flippant!  Who's 
the  cynic  now1? 

Collier  (smiling  helplessly).  You  see  the  simple 
truth  is — there's  no  reasonable  excuse  under  heaven 
why  I  shouldn't  do  just  the  things  decreed.  I've  no 
plans  of  my  own!  I'm  an  aimless  beggar,  Eliza 
beth.  You  know  it!  I  don't  see  why  the  deuce 
you've  had  the  patience  with  me  that  you  have.  I'm 
not  worth  my  salt! 

Elizabeth.  You  don't  know  what  you're  worth 
until  you've  tried,  Philip. 

[238] 


SENIOR  FINALITIES 

Collier  (musingly).  It's  no  use.  I  can  see  it  all. 
Nothing  that  I  could  decently  balk  at,  nothing— 
unless  the  girl,  perhaps,  but  after  all  you  know  it's 
six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  other — your 
chances  of  happiness  anyway.  It  will  probably  be 
some  one  quite  as  purposeless  and  mediocre  as  my 
self — some  dainty,  amiable  little  thing,  who  is  suit 
able,  eminently  suitable,  and  of  whom  mother  ap 
proves  heartily.  It  isn't  exactly  an  ideal  way  of 
looking  at  things,  is  it,  but  it's  more  like  real  life, 
the  kind  of  life  before  me,  Elizabeth. 

Elizabeth.  Whatever  has  come  over  you,  Philip1? 
I  have  never  heard  you  talk  like  this.  You  know 
you  don't  believe  it! 

Collier.  I  have  never  been  facing  the  threshold 
before  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  don't  know  what 
I  believe,  Elizabeth.  I  am  just  cut  to  the  pattern, 
that's  the  truth.  I  hate  my  limitations  like  every 
thing.  I've  even  almost  got  beyond  them  some 
times  down  here  with  you,  but  it  won't  last,  it 
won't  last! 

Elizabeth.  That's  a  cheering  thought  with  which 
to  set  sail  from  the  land  where  the  winds  of  freedom 
blow. 

Collier.  Oh,  here  I  am  boring  you  with  my  life 
prospects  and  their  assured  degeneration  when  I 

[239] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

ought  to  be  giving  you  a  decent  time.  We  have  had 
some  happy  old  days,  haven't  we,  Elizabeth.  I'll 
miss  you  like  everything,  and  you'll  probably  be 
way  down  South  there,  teaching  some  wretched  little 
beggars  their  alphabet  in  French.  Whenever  you 
come  North  you'll  let  me  know,  won't  you4?  The 
mater  wants  to  ask  you  to  visit  us.  I've  told  her  a 
lot  about  you  and  she's  anxious  to  know  you. 

Elizabeth  (feebly).  That  is  very  kind  of  her,  I 
am  sure.  I  doubt  if  I'll  be  up  again  before  the  big 
game  in  the  Fall,  though. 

Collier.  We  aren't  going  to  be  utter  strangers  by 
that  time  are  we,  Elizabeth4?  You  must  promise  to 
write  and  to  cheer  me  up  now  and  then,  and  I'll  do 
my  part  toward  keeping  you  posted  on  things  here — 
how  many  new  rigs  Parsons  has  acquired,  how  much 
longer  the  menu  at  Wilson's  has  grown,  and  where 
the  fellows  are  sending  their  orchids  from. 

Elizabeth  (unconsciously  crushing  the  petals  of 
one  of  the  orchids  she  wears,  until  there  is  a  great 
purple  stain  on  her  gown).  You  will  be  coming 
back  then  sometimes  for — for  mere  memory  of  the 
dream  days'? 

Collier.  I'll  have  to  come !  To  steal  down  now 
and  then,  you  know,  when  things  have  been  "wrink 
ling  in  my  heart  for  ages,"  as  Jimmy  says —  just  for 

[240] 


SENIOR  FINALITIES 

the  memories  of  the  old  place  and — the  fellows,  of 
course.  (Glancing  apprehensively  at  Elizabeth's 
non-committal  face  and  straightening  his  shoulders 
as  if  to  take  a  new  hold  on  things.)  Gee !  but  we're 
getting  gloomy.  Let's  wander  into  pastures  new. 

Elizabeth  (with  an  heroic  attempt  at  banter). 
Aren't  the  decorations  perfect  and  the  floor  is 

Collier  (looking  down  at  her  ankle  with  a  rather 
sick  smile).  Simply  superb. 

Elizabeth.  And  the  gowns  are — there!  I  defy 
you  to  finish  that. 

Collier.  Terribly  smart.  (With  unconscious 
frankness.)  It  does  make  a  lot  of  difference,  doesn't 
it1?  There  are  a  lot  more  society  girls  down  tonight 
than  usual.  Kitty  and  I  were  just  counting  up — ten 
altogether.  That's  a  pretty  good  percentage  out  of 
eighty.  They  make  things  hum,  don't  they4? 

Elizabeth.  Rather  too  much,  I  thought  you  com 
plained,  after  the  last  "Friday  night"  you  went  up 
for.  Is  it  the  mere  glamour  of  environment  that 
makes  the  difference  tonight  or — perhaps  the  bas- 
relief  of  comparison*? 

Collier  (heroically).  Well,  when  that's  one's  life, 
one  might  as  well  fall  victim  gracefully.  There's 
nothing  like  the  artistic  susceptibility !  By  the  way, 
Elizabeth,  I  won't  be  able  to  take  you  driving  in 

[241  ] 


NO?  INCLUDED  IN  A  SHEEPSKIN 

the  morning.  I  am  terribly  sorry,  but  Mother  tele 
phoned  down  after  dinner  to  ask  me  to  take  Kitty  to 
Redwood  tomorrow.  Her  aunt,  Mrs.  Sawyer,  has 
arranged  to  have  us  to  luncheon  or  something.  I 
hope  I  haven't  kept  you  from  anything  else. 

Elizabeth  (quietly).  Oh  no !  our  plans  were  only 
tentative,  of  course — in  fact,  I  was  going  to  tell  you 
I  shouldn't  be  able  to  go. 

Collier.    It's  beastly  luck ! 

Elizabeth  (her  face  colourless  and  drawn  as  she 
turns  toward  him).  Do  you  know  my  ankle  is 
throbbing  horribly.  I  wonder  if  I  may  be  a  nuisance 
and  ask  you  to  take  me  home1?  Oh !  no,  I  don't  care 
for  any  supper,  thank  you!  That's  our  rig  at  the 
end  of  the  curbing,  isn't  it?  Will  you  call  him 
please  and  I'll  have  my  wraps  in  a  moment.  (Pass 
ing  Peter  in  the  lower  Hall  dancing.)  Peter,  I  am 
going  home.  Come  up  with  the  girls  tonight,  will 
you — to  help  me  pack,  dear? 


[242] 


TTBRAFY 


THE  Li  BRAKY 


PS 

3511 

F88?n 


A     000922944 


